Bloodshed, Continents, Years - Epic
by casket4mytears
Summary: For one moment, she allowed grief to sink in, granted it her vulnerable heart and let the monstrous pain shake it within its teeth. For the second moment, she turned to her oldest friend, vengeance. The third moment brought with it something unexpected: hope. A season 4 finale fix-it fic in four parts that remixes it into the ending we needed. LoVe, naturally.
1. Bloodshed

**Hey Marshmallows, burnt and otherwise! Welcome to my season 4 finale fix-it fic. Upfront: story contains spoilers for the entire series and film. If you haven't watched season 4 and intend to, back away from the fic.**

**I've been upset for a week now, and I need to pour those emotions out somewhere. So why not fic, a wonderful world where we can all ignore canon and find the stories we need?**

**MY CHALLENGE TO MYSELF: fix the finale, using most/all of what we were given. I've outlined it, and in four parts, I will fix all of it with a slight change in dialogue, and KEEP the episode intact. We'll dig into the year the show jumped past, and find our way to Jane's office and that voicemail, with a lot of LoVe.**

**Remember, no matter how bleak part one seems at first, this is a FIX-IT. LoVe is endgame. I will take care of these characters. You'll see.**

**Consider me disclaimed.**

* * *

**PART ONE: Bloodshed**

"I think I'm going to shower first," Veronica called out, spinning the knobs by muscle memory to the precise combination that would yield a comfortably hot temperature in sixty seconds, give or take.

Something chimed faintly from the other room—her phone? His? She didn't care. The sole focus of her attention now was the man in the next room. Her husband of less than an hour.

_Holy shit, I have a husband. What would Lilly think?_

Distracted by the mix of elation and self-doubt flooding her veins, she scarcely caught the end of Logan's words, hearing only _car_. Or _cart_. She leaned away from the rushing water, straining to hear.

"What?"

Another phrase lost beneath the rushing water, but their front door squeaked open, then shut with a firm slam. Was someone at their door?

"Logan?" Her brain, ever furious with facts in a state of anxiety, nudged her with one she couldn't help but blurt out with satisfaction. "Wait a minute, Arizona doesn't do Daylight Savings Time."

Realizing if she couldn't make him out over the water, he likely couldn't hear her either, she stepped out into the hallway. "Logan?"

He wasn't in the living room, and a quick glance in the bedroom ruled that out too. Suddenly, it clicked: _Car. Street cleaning._ Logan must have gotten the automated alert and went to move the car for her. _Always taking care of me_, she mused, rushing to the bedroom window and pushing it open. And sure enough, there he was, keys in hand, dressed in that suit she fully intended to tear off of him before the trip to Sedona.

"Hey!" As he turned towards her, he tugged his sunglasses from his face and smiled. "They don't do Daylight Savings Time in Arizona, so I'm claiming half credit, even though…"

Her words fell away as that familiar tickle of _something's wrong, something's wrong_ swelled within her skull. _I'm missing something important. _

"Yeah?" he probed.

_FIJI_. "What's the time difference in Fiji? Penn's limerick, midday 'round Fiji?"

In her periphery, she saw the all-too familiar sight of Neptune parking enforcement, eager to ticket the tardy. Logan held up a finger, gesturing to the approaching vehicle.

"Hold that thought. I'm moving it!"

As he slipped into the driver's seat, she shut the window and mulled that damn line while she continued to pack. It hadn't been the sandwich shop, as she'd initially thought. The bomb had been found at Kane High School. What did that have to do with Fiji?

Was there another bomb?

A chill ran down her spine at the thought. Penn had been surprisingly clever so far, nail slip-up aside. It had to mean something. _Think of the context, Veronica. Think it through_.

"Heroes upon whom we're doting…"

That word. Hero. What had Penn said?

"_I'll tell you what, hero…"_

A sickening sense of dread flooded her as the dots connected. Penn and his backpack, the one he'd made a point of toting along this morning. His _if you're still around_ remark, which had made no sense at the time. _There's a bomb meant for me_.The backpack had been in her car, hadn't it? Had the police taken it at the high school? Why couldn't she remember what happened to the fucking backpack?

_What time was it now in Fiji?_

She glanced at the clock: 4:59pm. If the difference was five hours… _NO. _ Her heart stopped, as did her world, as she saw Logan, smiling and opening the door, saw herself running to the window to warn him, shouting his name like the plea of a sinner at the Pearly Gates.

And then, hell itself denied her in a fury of heat, a rush of wind that knocked her body back onto the bed. Car alarms blared outside. _Ask not for whom the bell tolls_. It was tolling for her heart, for the keeper of what little good still lay beneath her worn armour of jaded anger. Her mind whirred furiously, a kaleidoscopic delirium of memory and reality: how Logan had tossed her onto the bed like this, so many times; the stargazing nights they'd shared after she'd cleared him of Bonnie's murder; seeing stars now, in the wake of destruction, only to understand the twinkling was shards of glass cascading down.

Fragmented, like her heart.

For one moment, she allowed grief to sink in, granted it her vulnerable heart and let the monstrous pain shake it within its teeth. For the second moment, she turned to her oldest friend, vengeance. She considered what she knew about Clyde, and what leverage that might afford her to punish Penn, truly make him suffer for this final wound. Her fingertips grazed her face, trailing thin lines of blood down her cheeks. A tiny shard of glass impaled itself upon her ring finger. She laughed bitterly, staring at the invader.

_You can't hurt me. _

The third moment brought with it something unexpected, something she'd felt only once since the death of Lilly Kane changed her course forever. Something she'd felt in the presence of Logan, waking up to the smell of bacon wafting from the kitchen. She'd run from her room, wanting so badly to believe that she'd dreamed that terrible confrontation on the roof of the Neptune Grand, that it would be just another morning with her father and he wasn't scattered in the wreckage of Woody's plane.

_Hope_.

And while he hadn't been there cooking, moments later, her hope was rewarded with another chance to hug her father, to try and be a better daughter. Logan had been with her then.

_Maybe he wasn't inside the car. Maybe he's injured, lying on the sidewalk, waiting for you. Get the fuck up, Veronica. GO!_

It was ludicrous, likely futile. Nothing good came of loving her, of being in her circle. But Logan was a good man, someone who had paid his karmic dues long ago. Maybe he was good enough to cancel out the curse of her.

Hope whispered in her ear as she ran from the beach house, stumbling and nearly spilling down the stairs in her haste to know, to see. She could hear people shouting, hear distant sirens crying out in a shared rage. Rounding the corner, hope apologized for leading her on and left the building.

Her car was in pieces, the driver's side door thrown five feet away, and what remained of its metal torso was quickly turning black. Smoke and flames billowed, fueled by the quarter tank of gas she'd been trying to cling to for days. She edged closer to the carnage, forcing herself to search for signs of a body.

_A body._ Her stomach lurched at the mere thought, and she turned away, gasping for air. And in doing so, she found him.

"Logan," she whispered in disbelief.

Down the street, a flash of blue, an arm flying out to strike another man. A second man lay crumpled several feet away, between Veronica and the fray. Confused, she stumbled closer, struggling to recognize the strangers.

"This isn't real," she murmured. "Why would Logan be in a fight?"

She winced and sobbed, recalling their argument days before. _This is some sick hallucination, me forcing him to be 'old Logan' even in death. _Nothing else made sense. And yet, the closer she drew, the clearer she could hear the sounds of the brutal fisticuffs playing out before her. A neighbour shouted, ordering them to break it up.

The fallen man, only three feet away now, was reaching into his pocket, a familiar form distending the fabric. _A gun._ Where was her fucking gun now, when she needed it most? The man rose, his shaved head shining in the sun, as he slowly raised his arm to fire.

Real, madness, she no longer cared: she was not going to lose him.

"Get the _fuck_ away from my husband!" she screamed, lunging at the would-be assassin.

The stranger spun around, surprised as her body collided with his, He was larger, stronger without question, but she landed one good hit to his jaw before he threw her aside. Her head bounced against the pavement, stunning her briefly. Adrenaline surged and she managed to throw a wedge heel into the asshole's groin before her vision began to spin.

"Veronica!"

He was worried. Why was he worried?

"Logan?"

She blinked away the spins and pressed up onto her hands and knees, panicking as she realized the first stranger had caught Logan in a choke hold. And her new friend had turned from her now, gun in hand. Something was said in a foreign language, something angry, and she staggered to her feet behind him. The gun was rising, rising to aim at Logan once more.

Logan yelled at her to run, his stricken gaze fixed upon her. He'd always had a death wish. Well, too damn bad.

She threw herself at the gun, eyes shutting at the sound of the weapon's discharge.

There was commotion, noise. A guttural scream, like the one her heart made when the bomb had gone off. _Logan?_ _Was he hurt?_ Her limbs felt heavy, weighted and wobbly, as she lay on the ground, blinking away streaks of light. There was a scuffle, a noise, and another shot.

A tear slid down her cheek, scalding hot. _I'm so sorry, I failed you. I failed you, too._

The sirens were closer now. Almost there. Too late to matter. Her eyes closed, and it occurred to her that the weather had turned surprisingly cold for spring break. She shivered against the pavement and lolled her head to the side, drawing a shaky breath.

"Veronica! Oh God, no!"

Hope tiptoed beside her, smiling. _Don't give up just yet._

A hand, cradling her cheek. She'd know the faint calluses of those fingers anywhere. Veronica forced her eyelids open, smiling at the welcome sight of brown eyes and a jaw she'd tucked herself beneath so many times to feel safe.

"Logan… The bomb—"

"I wasn't in the car. I'm fine. I'm fine and _you're_ going to be fine, you hear me?" She was pulled into his lap, her head resting upon his thigh, as he turned away and screamed into the streets. "SOMEONE HELP!"

"Logan?"

A firm hand pressed against her waist and she hissed in pain. A glance away from his worried features brought clarity in the form of a strawberry stain marring her dress.

_Well, shit._

"Think they'll be able to get that stain out at the Preeners? I wanted to renew our vows someday in this dress."

His lips found hers, gentle, tentative kisses raining down upon them, her cheeks, her forehead. "Just stay awake, help is almost here. I love you, Veronica. You hear me?"

Her hand slid across the fabric of her dress, covering his. They would do this together.

"Hey…. Hey, Logan, it finally happened. Like you said."

He frowned, his free hand swiping a strand of hair from her forehead. "What did?"

"Years and continents… check. Lives ruined… I've managed a few. Bloodshed. Trifecta," she joked weakly, grimacing as a stabbing pain set into her abdomen.

"It was supposed to be me," Logan whispered, pressing harder against her wound. "Never you. Never, never you…"

"I'm cold," she whimpered, panic setting in. "Logan?"

The sirens were screaming now, on their street. So close, but she felt so very far away. Logan pulled her closer, rocking her gently.

"Stay with me, Veronica," he pleaded. "Please don't leave me alone."

"I love you." She tried to squeeze his hand, but her muscles weren't listening. "Don't let me go… Don't…"

Darkness fell over her, claiming her as a consolation prize.

* * *

Her eyes were grainy, crusted with sleep as she cracked them open tentatively. The light stung and she immediately abandoned that idea. Nope, she was going to roll over and go right the hell back to sleep…

_What is that obnoxious beeping?_

Her alarm. The one she'd probably hit snooze on five times already, as usual. Although that nightmare she'd just had was definitely _not_ worth the ten extra minutes. Maybe this was a sign she needed to be more of an early bird like Logan. Speaking of, why wasn't he turning off that damn alarm?

"Logan, make the beep go away," she mumbled.

"She's waking up! Veronica? Veronica, can you hear me?"

_Dad?_ Okay, she was awake now. She opened her eyes and sat up—tried to, anyway. The searing pain and the tangle of wires attached to her body complicated things and she fell back into the pillows beneath her with a curse.

"Easy, Veronica!"

"This is not my beautiful house," she muttered, studying the white walls and worried faces of her father and Logan at her side.

"Same as it ever was," her father declared, kissing her cheek. "You gave us one hell of a scare, kiddo."

"Try not to ever do that again," Logan added, reaching for her hand.

A smart-assed reply was just begging to be unleashed, but the paper-cut stinging on her face reminded her of those desperate moments when she believed Logan lost, their last exchange a shallow victory about time zones, and she swallowed it down,

"I won't if you won't."

"I find these terms acceptable." Logan's lips met hers gently. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I remember what I _believed_ had happened: you, blown up in my car…"

Words failed her as the gravity of the close call sunk in anew. She'd come so very close to losing him. Wasted so much time arguing, pushing him back, pushing him away. Testing his sweet promises of love and faithfulness. Her hand reached for his faded grey tee, tugging on it and he leaned over her, covering her body with his.

"I know. I know how scared you were. You scared me, too."

She pressed her face into his shirt, inhaling deeply. His cologne filled her nostrils, comforting in its familiarity. Her anxiety eased, old instincts kicked in.

"The men? Who were they?"

"Complications from my last mission," he replied quickly, straightening himself up. "They'll never hurt you again."

"What about hurting you?"

Logan remained silent, but the flash of anger in her eyes told her everything. Logan had killed them. She couldn't even pretend to be sorry.

The next hour passed in a blur of small talk, nurses taking vitals, a doctor reconfirming them and providing her with a summary of what she'd missed during two days of unconsciousness: a few stitches to her face, and many more to her waist, where the bullet had thankfully only grazed her soft tissue. She'd perhaps want to avoid bikinis around her loved ones, lest they worry too much, but it was nothing a few weeks of rest wouldn't cure.

The private room and attentive staff were already raising alarm bells of _this will cost a small fortune _before the very unexpected arrival of one Clarence Wiedman. Veronica tilted her head askance, nudging her husband.

"Um honey? I don't believe I asked for a Clarence for a wedding gift."

"Sorry, sugar bear, but I couldn't find that elusive giant hamster ball your dad's been trying to find since you figured out how to pick a lock." Nodding to Clarence, Logan sat down on the edge of the bed. "Clarence is here out of an abundance of caution, while the Navy looks into a few things."

"And before you protest, I agree with Logan on this one," her father chimed in.

"I just… didn't know you were still in touch," Veronica clarified, studying the former head of Kane security.

Logan hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "We've kept in touch for business purposes."

"Hello, Veronica." Clarence's expression gave nothing away, much to her annoyance. "I'll be outside this room during the day, should you require any assistance."

"Thank you. Logan, what exactly is the Navy looking into?"

"They're making sure our unwelcome visitors are the first and last."

Veronica frowned, shifting in the bed to stretch her stiff legs. "And our visitors? Aren't the police asking questions? Or the press?"

"That has been dealt with. They're the final casualties of the Neptune bombings," Clarence interjected quickly. "Excuse me, I'll return to my post."

_Ahh. Clean-up: Clarence's strong suit_.

Sensing this was as much as anyone would tell her in a public setting, she cut Logan a break and abandoned her inquisition. For now. Her throat was parched from all of the talking, and she gestured to a nearby cup of ice chips. Her father waved Logan off and brought it to her, undoubtedly feeling helpless and irrationally guilty over her injuries. Popping a large chip in her mouth, she rolled it around with her tongue and hummed happily. Definitely an improvement.

"Well, as fun as this has been, when can I go recover at our lovely, rent-controlled home?" Veronica asked, glancing at her father. "I'm not burning through the reward money before you can get your surgery."

"Veronica, I've waited five years already. It can wait a little longer," Keith Mars insisted, swinging his cane at his side.

"Like hell—"

Logan pressed a finger to her lips. "Stop that. Given the circumstances and our recent nuptials, the Navy is footing the bill. Private room, private security. And, as a bonus, they're throwing in a honeymoon."

Veronica's eyes widened. "Wait, what? Are you serious?"

"Save your Groupons for the anniversary. My CO was adamant about it. He thinks we don't know about his love of _The Notebook_, but moments like this..."

"Wow! I should get shot more often!" At her father and Logan's matching looks of annoyance, she laughed weakly. "I'm kidding. But seriously, all this fuss for little old Veronica Echolls?"

"You mean, all this fuss for Logan Mars," her husband countered with a smirk.

"Are you joking? I sense from the fuzziness in my head that I'm on an excellent drug for pain and I can't tell if you're joking." Her gaze fell upon her father. "Dad?"

Her father shrugged, the corners of his mouth only just upturned. "He did run the idea by me yesterday as a hypothetical…."

"We could be like those cool kids and hyphenate," Logan mused aloud. "Or choose a new last name altogether for whimsy."

"Mars-Echolls? Or Echolls-Mars?" She wasn't sure about either of them. Hyphenated names felt so… long.

"Class before ass, obviously," he quipped.

What was in a name? Did it even matter, when you could lose someone so suddenly? She would take his name, despite his father's sins. She'd keep hers. She had more important things to spend her time on, like planning this surprise honeymoon.

"You know what? You choose. My last name doesn't matter as long as you're with me."

"Veronica Mars, not demanding input?" Keith gasped, clutching his chest. "Alert the press! Hell has frozen over!"

Logan remained silent for a minute, deep in thought. Her hand crept over the sheets, coming to rest upon his thigh. She was exhausted, but she fought the weariness, reluctant to be apart from him for another minute. A smile in her direction, her lips captured in kiss, and then, an answer.

"Logan Mars it is."

* * *

**One down, three to go... After all, we have a year to cover, thanks to that flash forward.**

**Next up: the honeymoon we were denied! Hit follow/fave, and if you feel like an angsty wander back into the world of the movie, I did a drabble-ish thing years ago exploring the years between S3 and the film.**


	2. Continents

**Thank you for the positive feedback so far! I'm so glad I can help fellow Marshmallows undo the pain and disappointment on screen. **

**Next up: a honeymoon, wherein we have sexy fluff and introspection...**

**The song referenced in the chapter would be "Even Though Our Love Is Doomed" by Garbage (you'll recall they gave us the fantastic Bad Boyfriend in season 1)**

* * *

**PART TWO: Continents**

_People were scurrying from the front courtyard, white folding chairs toppled in the fray. Veronica's eyes searched the area, studying the structure and the ceremony's set-up, trying to think like a murderer. Where do you plant a bomb for maximum effect? Who would you target? The high school band? The guest of honour? The whole she-bang, terrible pun intended?_

_Fucking Penn, she grimaced, waving people further from the school. This stupid, murder-junkie monster!_

_She hurried to her car, where her father stood guard over Neptune's copycat bomber. Penn was still protesting his innocence, but she wasn't buying it anymore. She hadn't liked the guy since that Murderheads meeting, and she should have trusted that instinctual flinch within her._

"_You! Get out and defuse the bomb," she demanded. "We're not moving from this spot."_

"_You are INSANE!" Penn fired back, looking to her father to be the weak link. _

"_FINE! We'll wait. We can all die together!" Veronica snapped._

"_Veronica, you need to leave the bomb radius too," her father insisted with a concerned look. "We don't need both of us babysitting this guy."_

_**Oh no you don't, Dad.**__ "Nice try—"_

"_Goddamn it, Veronica! I've got this! It doesn't make any sense for both of us to stay here." And before she could try and counter him, he played the one card that would silence her: "If you love me, you'll go."_

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! _

_From within the car, Penn started yapping again. "How about I leave and the two of you stay?"_

_It was a silent exchange now: Veronica begging her father not to do what he'd always done, and her father asking her to not to be like him. It was their mutual nightmare relived: the day Aaron Echolls had nearly killed them both. Her father would die for her, because the thought of losing her, as he'd told her in the hospital, was more terrifying than running through fire._

_Being alone, without her, was his greatest fear. Being responsible for his death was hers._

"_Dad," she pleaded._

"_I've got this, honey," he repeated, softening his voice. "I've got this."_

_He was sick, potentially dying. His expression said it all: let me be your hero, Veronica. Let me save my daughter. And even as her heart cracked, she knew she owed him what might be his dying wish. And so she ran, a lump swelling within her throat as she watched her father lean into the car to work that Keith Mars magic. Footsteps approached her, and there was a familiar voice: Matty._

"_How much time?"_

"_Thirty seconds if we're right, but you know, we've been wrong before."_

_Her attention remained fixed upon her father, her feet shuffling anxiously side to side as Penn emerged from the vehicle, corralled towards the school. She mumbled encouragements, willing fate to be kind for once, willing it to protect her father as Penn leaned down over a grate and her father pried it open. Beside her, Matty counted down the agonizing seconds, much to her frustration._

"_Stop," she pleaded, laying a hand of caution upon the teen's arm._

_Sirens roared up. The cavalry, here and hoping to take credit for her father's heroics. Penn was yelling now, but she couldn't make out his words. Something was wrong._

_Veronica's eyes screwed shut as she braced herself for the explosion, counting silently in her head. Three, two, one…_

_Her ears were ringing, the force of the blast staggering her into Matty. They fell like porcelain dolls, cracking against the pavement, limbs splayed awkwardly. The smell of smoke and burning skin filled her nostrils and Veronica gagged, remembering her father's burning flesh as she'd exited the fridge one fiery night. _

"_Dad?" she whimpered._

_She pushed herself to her feet, hands crunching broken glass as she staggered into the chaos. People were fleeing further from the Kane High School, but she edged closer, squinting at the charcoal plumes. Blood dripped from her torn palms, liquid rubies in a macabre trail she could never follow home._

"_Dad! DAD!"_

_She leaned against her car, the body scalding her arm as she pressed onwards, needing to know for sure, needing to see._

_When she found his hand, watch still around his severed wrist, Veronica began to scream…_

"Veronica! Veronica, wake up! Wake up, you're safe!"

Her arms flailed wildly, striking out at the bedside lamp as she sobbed. "Dad!"

"He's safe, you're safe, we're all safe." The muscular arms restraining her grew tighter, pulling her back against a sturdy chest. "Veronica, _please,_ breathe!"

Veronica gasped for air, frantically searching for her father's corpse. What she found was polished wood furniture, an abandoned room service cheesecake on the desk nearby. The soft hum of the air conditioner across the room was strangely comforting. She inhaled through her nose and released through her mouth, just as Logan had taught her. Just as he was whispering to her now. Her head tilted back, seeking his face as reassurance. The cut over his eye was less angry now, the bruise on his temple yellowing and faded.

"Breathe. I've got you," he promised. "It was a nightmare. It wasn't real."

"The bomb," she sobbed. "He didn't defuse it in time… My dad…"

She squirmed in his grasp and he loosened it, understanding her intentions. Her body rolled towards his, her head coming to rest upon his heart. She counted the beats, steady but too fast. He was worried. _One, two, three, four, five_…

"That sounds awful," he murmured, kissing the top of her head. "But you know it didn't happen that way, right?"

"I know. But it felt real. I can still smell the burning…."

They lay that way for some time, Logan's arms enveloping her as she focused on her breathing. In, hold, out slow. In, hold, out slow. This wasn't the first nightmare since that day, but it was the first on their honeymoon, and she was both angry and humiliated about it. This was supposed to be a happy week, a celebration of how much she loved Logan—and how much he plainly loved her back, her many flaws aside. It wasn't fair to him, or her.

"Hey." A soft kiss upon the crown of her head pulled her back from the darkness. "You're doing it again, aren't you?"

"Doing what?"

"Blaming yourself. Feeling like you're ruining things."

She pressed herself up onto her elbows, ignoring the sting in her healing gunshot wound. "You think you know everything about me, huh? This marriage thing has gone to your head."

"I know _you_. I know your heart," Logan insisted. "There's nowhere in the world I would rather be right now than here with you."

"Because nightmares are _sooo sexy_," she retorted.

"I've had my share of them, remember? That mission two years ago?"

She did remember that one. Logan had come home, but he wasn't _home_. He was miles away, his eyes glazed over for a week. She'd cooked his favourite meals, put on all of his favourite movies. Nothing could shake him loose of his self-made prison, save one thing: sex. And even that wasn't the same. It was frantic, needy. He'd hold her so tightly, she could scarcely breathe. And when they'd climax, he would cry and cradle her close, making her promise not to leave him.

Although he'd eventually been more himself, the nightmares had lasted for a month. Not every night, but when they came, he would awaken with her name upon his lips, shouted with a desperation that haunted her. He'd never told her about the dreams, nor the mission that caused them, not entirely. He'd only said that things had been darker than any other deployment, that he'd almost lost hope. That the thought of her kept him going.

Come to think of it, the marriage jokes had started soon after that.

What that memory told her—what her nightmares were insisting to be true—was that just as love spanned continents, so did fear. _You can't outrun what's locked within you, burned into your soul like a brand._

"I'm sorry I'm a mess," she whispered.

Logan shook his head, his left palm cradling her chin. "You're not a mess. You're human. You've been through a lot, alright?"

Her lips curved into a half-smile, the terror and guilt ebbing away to that comfortable peace she felt in his presence. She didn't have to pretend with Logan. He knew every flaw, every scar, every big mistake. She knew his closet skeletons, his fears, his deepest regrets. _Emotional nudity_, she'd called it five years ago, as they'd begun anew.

Her lips grazed his chest and he sighed happily. Logan had always been so sensitive to light, loving touches: a consequence of growing up with brutality. Her lips trailed towards the waistband of his boxers, where a flick of her tongue yielded a groan.

"But how will you maintain those perfect abs if I keep disrupting your beauty sleep?" she joked quietly.

"I'll just bench press a gorgeous blonde. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find one of those, would you?" he teased, eyes twinkling.

"Oh, I may be able to find one you can lift and lower to your satisfaction…"

Her voice trailed off as his hand slid low, fingertips skirting beneath her flimsy pajama shorts and tracing figure-eights along her inner thigh. Her lips found his as she hitched her leg up and over him, straddling his waist and offering her incredibly skilled lover room to work his magic. As his hand slid further beneath the silky fabric, he broke away from her kiss, studying her face intently.

"I need this," she reassured him. "I need you. Right now. Please?"

"A dilemma. I need something too, but I distinctly remember your doctor recommending I not be on top of you for a few weeks." His fingers slid between her thighs, grazing where she ached for him. "Ahh, I know what to do."

"Whatever it is, can you do it faster?" she begged.

Logan smirked as he withdrew his hand, earning a frustrated curse from Veronica. "The straddling works very well for me, but you're a few feet too far south and far too dressed, bobcat."

"Hungry? I could swear we had dessert just a few hours ago," Veronica purred as she crawled her way up to his pillow, knees nestled above his shoulders.

"Well, what can I say? I have a healthy appetite. And these?" He tugged lightly on her shorts, stretching the fabric. "I'll buy you a new pair. Again."

Veronica groaned as Logan tore the crotch of her shorts. "I'm going to start buying my sleepwear at Stripper Depot."

"But opening the present's half the fun."

As his tongue slid between her folds, her hands flew out to grip the headboard. If there was one thing she'd learned long ago about Logan, it was that her knees were sure to give out long before he was done with her—and she wouldn't want it any other way.

* * *

The water lapping the beach of Great Cruz Bay was a particularly vibrant shade of turquoise this morning. Veronica sighed happily, stretching out on her stomach as Logan dug out the SPF 110 for her. She may have always been a California girl, but the sun in the Virgin Islands was a whole other experience. The light peeling on her shoulders was proof of it.

"You going for a swim?" she asked him.

"Was thinking about it. You good here?"

Waving her copy of _I'll Be Gone In The Dark_ in his direction, she smiled. "I've got water, a little light reading, my iPod… all I need is that lotion and I'm a happy girl."

"What, no snacks?"

"That's what the beach concierge is for. He'll be here in, hmm, twenty minutes with my fruit parfait and danishes."

Squirting a dollop of sunscreen into his hands, Logan began massaging it into her upper back. "That's my wife."

"You say that a lot."

"Wife?"

"That I'm yours. You're very possessive, Mr. Mars."

As his hand slid beneath the string tie of her bikini top, he leaned down to kiss the nape of her neck. "I distinctly recall you referring to a specific part of my anatomy as yours in the wee hours of the night. Pot, this is your kettle speaking."

_Touché, Logan._ "Not that I mind, really. Especially not in the bedroom. Or the shower. Or the kitchen."

"Now I'm hungry again," he teased, applying lotion to her lower back, mindful of her healing incision.

As tempting as that was, Veronica was… _sensitive_ after the last few nights. Three times a day was the dream in theory, or perhaps with average lovers, but Logan would likely put Sting to shame in the endurance department.

"Nuh uh, I plan to enjoy this beautiful scenery, courtesy of the fine men and women of the Navy. You can't just keep me locked up in that villa as your concubine."

"Suit yourself. Did you get your beautiful thighs, or shall I?"

"I left them for you, of course." Out of the periphery of her vision, she spied movement at the villa next door. "Looks like Trisha and Brandon are up and about."

Trisha and Brandon—or rather, Lieutenants Nathaniels and Espinoza, respectively—were the fine print in the Navy's free honeymoon offer. They'd been assigned the task of serving as the undercover security detail for the newlyweds, as Naval Intelligence confirmed that no other loose ends remained from Logan's last mission. He'd given her limited details upon their arrival in St John—that the mission had felt too easy, and a newer member of the team had confirmed their assailants as dead when they clearly were not. The Navy, unhappy with this costly error, were taking no chances with a decorated officer and his injured spouse.

Their honeymoon felt partially like a bribe for silence, but she wasn't complaining. Neither were Trisha and Brandon, who were a married couple themselves. Sure, it was a working vacation, but what an office!

Logan had moved on from his dutiful sunscreen application, and was now massaging her feet. "You feeling up to a late lunch with them? Trisha was asking yesterday."

"Of course! Certain parts of my anatomy could use a respite from your enthusiasm. A _brief_ respite," she quickly clarified, squeezing her thighs together at the memory of the thorough ravaging she'd enjoyed in the shower yesterday.

Logan chuckled, setting the sunscreen down beside her. "_Brief_ respite, as long as I can snag a cuddle post-lunch."

"A clothing-optional cuddle, Mr. Mars. Now go, be one with the water in those blue trunks I hope you never, ever lose."

Veronica slipped her ear buds in and shuffled her totally-not-girly-Logan-playlist, stretching her legs along the oversized lounger. While she couldn't venture into the water with him due to her stitches, she could admire his arms as he swam through the waves lapping lazily at the sand. She flashed back to the day of the Sea Sprite bombing, thinking of how she'd toyed with the Spring Breakers panting over him.

It felt years away now.

Her dad had waited for a quiet moment in the hospital, free of Logan, to politely suggest she change careers and make use of her law degree. He wasn't pushy, freely admitting the inherent hypocrisy, but he did note that she had more choices than he had. The comment was lemon juice poured on the jagged wounds from her exchange with Weevil—who, to her surprise, had sent a Get Well bouquet to her room via Wallace and Shae. She'd countered that really, it was _Logan's_ career that had endangered her, but her father's steely gaze had shut down her protests. They'd agreed to disagree—for now.

Her iPod shuffled up one of the darker songs in the mix, a song she'd stumbled onto a week after Logan had revealed how life or death his joining the Navy had truly been. She'd been berating herself for being overly friendly with Leo on the Manning case, never mind how she'd dragged Logan into his darkest days to shut down what was an unfair and irrational argument on her part. He'd never once misled her on the role the Navy would play in his life, and she'd chosen to be with him anyway. Yes, it was hard to come home and not see him, maybe not even hear from him for weeks at a time. But that was, as Mac called it during a late-night ice cream and vent, "the price of admission" to be with him.

"You want him to accept your risky behaviour on cases, but he can't risk his life to serve his country?" Mac had probed, dipping her spoon into her pint.

Mac was right. Logan was right. She was wrong, and she had to admit it—did admit it, eventually. But first, she'd wallowed in songs of hopeless love affairs, sleeping with her laptop so as not to miss a single Skype. A chance Spotify playlist had brought her to the aptly named "Even Though Our Love Is Doomed" and she'd immediately hit play.

She edged the volume higher, watching Logan in the water and remembering how terrified she'd been that he would throw his hands up and declare all of it—her insecurities, her demanding nature, the long distance—not worth the hassle, and leave. To her dismay, it still cut close to the bone for her.

"_Can you love me for what I've become  
Love me for what I said that I would not become…"_

Ugh, she'd been a bit of a brat for the last few weeks. _A bit?_ In her defense, and it wasn't the strongest one, she had repeatedly expressed a lack of desire for marriage to Logan. She'd told him as much when they were in high school.

_And Logan had told you he wanted that, someday. Under the stars on Dog Beach, right after you agreed to move home_.

She could have left, right then. Star crossed forever, she could have called it. Gone back to New York and moved out of her apartment with Piz, built a life alone. But she'd stayed, because what else could she do? He'd enchanted her when she was twelve, and she'd never been able to shake the connection between them, even when she'd moved across the country.

"_And even though our love is doomed  
And even though we're all messed up  
You're the only thing worth fighting for  
You're the only thing worth dying for…"_

Logan waved at her from the ocean and she smiled, returning the gesture. _I would die for you any day, _she thought. _And I know that you would do the same for me_.

Bloodshed. Epic.

Glancing at her abandoned book, she sat it aside. Serial killer lore could wait for another day. The concierge arrived with her breakfast order and she tipped him generously, digging into her parfait while humming along with the music. And while she told herself she was watching Logan strictly out of lust for that incredible military body of his, anxiety whispered deep within, refusing to let her lower her guard.

* * *

On their final night in St John, the rain pelted down all evening, confining them to their villa. The inky water churned furiously beneath a waning moon and Veronica's stomach dropped. It was an omen, surely, of what was to come back in Neptune. It had to be.

Too bad the Navy had confirmed that no lingering threats to their safety remained. Maybe she could have talked them into a second week on the beach. This villa was a pretty sweet reward for taking a bullet, in her books.

She startled as Logan's mouth pressed against the nape of her neck, his arms sliding around her chest from behind. "You look deep in thought."

She leaned into him, her satin robe fluttering around her thighs. "I'm fine."

Logan hesitated briefly. "You always are."

_Fuck. _They'd almost made it the entire week.

"Logan, I can't do this tonight."

"Hey, I—"

"I won't do this now, not this week." She blinked angrily at the traitor tears she couldn't force back. "I don't want to fight with you!"

He spun her around, cradling her face in his palms. "I'm not trying to start a fight with you, Ronnie. I'm sorry."

_Ronnie_. That old nickname only slipped out when he was extremely vulnerable—and not just because he was standing naked before her. His heart was in her hands, and he was waiting to be crushed. She drew a deep breath and let him speak.

"I just meant… Being fine isn't being okay. Trust me, I know from experience. And the look on your face right now… I've known you too long not to see it. You're not okay."

She hugged herself tightly, leaning against the window ledge. "Logan…"

"I know you probably don't want to talk about it, and you don't have to. But if you do, you know I'm here to listen, right?"

Of course she knew. She was being hypersensitive right now, casting the world in the harshest light. Logan's intentions were good, even if his delivery was less than perfect.

"I do."

Logan smiled, swiping her tears away. "Ahh, so she _did_ know her lines!"

"I was trying to be original," she protested, laughing quietly.

"C'mere." He pulled her into his arms, kissing her forehead. "I love you. I have loved our honeymoon, even if we were denied those famous red sandstone formations."

"The walls of our villa are red brick. Close enough."

A deflection via humour, their trademark sleight of hand. She'd take the out he'd handed her gladly.

Veronica pressed up onto her toes, claiming his mouth with hers. The kiss deepened as they staggered towards the king-size bed, Logan chuckling into her mouth as he fell backwards onto the mattress. Undeterred, Veronica straddled his waist, gently tugging on his lower lip with her teeth.

"Would I be a very bad Navy wife if I branded you with hickeys all over your neck?"

"I'm sure my CO…" His teeth grazed her earlobe and she shuddered against him. "…would love it as much as your father would enjoy me reciprocating."

Her palms pressed against his chest, pushing her upright. "Hey, he has always said I can have all the sex I want once I'm married, _which I am now_. He no longer gets to have an opinion."

"And you don't get to have this anymore tonight," Logan declared, tugging open her robe.

She shrugged it off, letting the blue silk hit the floor behind her with a soft _plop_. Logan's hands slid up to cup her breasts, gently squeezing them. She rolled her hips, grinding herself against his erection. A curse slipped from Logan's lips as he pulled her down and sunk his teeth into her shoulder.

She was desperate to drive away her lingering dread, drown it in her need for him. She worked her hand between them, guiding him where she needed him most.

"I love you," she whispered as she sunk down on his length. "I love you," she repeated, pressing her forehead to his as she slowly began to ride him.

"I love you, Veronica. Always."

He let her lead at first, let her build the tension between them. It was her particular talent, working them to the precipice and falling off again, over and over. She could read him so well, knew his tells from years of study. There was a little swirl-thrust to the right that… _yes, there_. Logan's head sunk deeper into the pillow as his eyes rolled back. Sometimes, she would bring him here and ease off three or four times before the intensity picked up, but she was impatient tonight.

Leaning forward, her mouth captured his neck, sucking just hard enough to leave the faintest of marks. _Mine._

"You know I'm going to return the favour," he murmured in her ear.

"Counting on it."

He pushed up onto his forearms, shifting the angle and driving himself deeper inside. Veronica moaned loudly, sinking onto him as he sucked hard on her left breast. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_.

"Oh, we're definitely doing that," he assured her, and she realized she'd spoken aloud.

"Less talking," she pleaded, rocking forward.

His hands sliding to her hips, Logan drove away all fear, all thought and reason, until it was just the two of them, gasping and needing and _alive_. And as she broke down crying, clinging to his sweaty frame, he asked no questions of her, made no judgments, only promises of love and protection.

His fingers traced along her healing bullet wound, his voice cracking as he whispered her name like a prayer.

"I'd do it again," she told him, absolving him with a kiss.

* * *

**My heart feels better already. Next up: let's sort out those stilted friendships in S4 and bring someone home from Istanbul...**

**Please review, it helps ease my "ahhhh, haven't written in this fandom on the reg" nerves. **


	3. Years

**Step 1: Fix the explosion**

**Step 2: Fix the denial of LoVe joy and honeymoon**

**Step 3: Fix Veronica's friendships and sort out two plot holes.**

**I'm back from a weekend away and LoVe are back from their honeymoon. This chapter jumps through the first six months after the wedding. We have fluff! We have friendship! We have continuity correction! Enjoy, Marshmallows.**

**Lyrics are taken from The Greatest - Sia**

* * *

**PART 3: Years**

Logan deployed a week after their honeymoon, much to her dismay. The ink had scarcely dried on her surgeon's sign-off before the phone rang. Logan hesitated, glancing over at her with a pained expression before acknowledging the CO on the other line. She nodded slowly, forcing a half smile of reassurance.

"It's your job. I'll be fine with you out there, protecting the world."

They argued a little about that first deployment, with Logan wanting her to take Pony to her father's until he returned, and Veronica reminding him his deployment could take weeks or months. As much as she loved her father, his home would make for close, overprotective quarters. A well-timed call from Mac thankfully brought with it a suitable compromise: a girls' week at her long-time friend's stunning home in Santa Barbara.

Getting away from her apartment—where she had come so close to losing Logan—released a breath she'd been holding for a month. To her annoyance, however, the nightmares had followed her to Mac's, marring her first night's sleep in the luxurious guest bed.

In this incarnation, she was on the roof of the Neptune Grand with Cassidy Casablancas, only this time, he held two phones. He told her to choose: Logan or her father. When she refused, he blew them both up, twin explosions lighting the night sky.

Mac had woken her up an hour ago, shaking her gently and sliding into bed with her. She'd rested her head in Mac's lap immediately, cheeks stained in tears as Mac admitted she sometimes still had nightmares about Cassidy herself.

"These moments, the ones that really hurt, we always carry them with us, Veronica. You know that. You used to tell me about your Lilly dreams. I'm surprised you've never had a dream about that night before."

"I haven't," Veronica murmured. "I think… it's like a floodgate is open, now. And I'm afraid of what that means."

Mac's fingers massaged her scalp gently, as she considered Veronica's words. "It just means that this close call? It doesn't fit in whatever mental box you usually stuff things into. Or maybe it means for the first time in your life, you feel safe enough to let everything out and _deal_."

Veronica pondered this for a long time, considering each of Mac's presented theories. The overflowing box of misery seemed viable: she'd certainly experienced more than her fair share of trauma, like the hapless lead of an Oscar-bait film. On the other hand, she'd also finally pushed past her deep-seated fear that relationships were inherently doomed, and sooner or later, everyone she counted on would desert her—except her father. She'd stopped throwing up walls and deflecting anything reeking of traditional domesticity, daring to imagine something less demure housewife, more partners in proverbial crime.

She'd taken a hard look at Logan after the shoot-out at the cabin and realized that of all the men she'd given her heart to, he was the one who'd seen her at her worst, and still wanted to be with her. Marriage may not have been a requisite for her, but it was merely formalizing what she already felt: she loved Logan, and couldn't imagine spending a day of her life without him. And with that leap of faith, she'd found a sense of peace.

"Maybe it's both?" Veronica mused aloud.

"Could be. You know what this calls for?"

"Wine?"

Mac chuckled, smoothing her hair down. "I was thinking another champagne and strawberry cupcake. All the boozy bliss, none of the hangover."

"I like your thinking. This is why you're the Oracle to my Batman."

They talked until the sun came up, Veronica in an extremely rare soul-baring mood. And while she didn't necessarily feel closer to dispelling the cloying fear lodged in her gut, she at least felt a sense of control over it. It was a start, enough to spend the remainder of their week chasing Pony around the yard and savouring the specialties of every prominent winery in a 100-mile radius.

Saying goodbye was physically painful at the end of the week: for the first time since Lilly's death, Veronica had truly embraced "girl time" with a close friend. It occurred to her, while loading her bags into her new car, that she'd perhaps held Mac at arm's length for far too long.

"I think this is the last of it," Mac announced, her angled chin-length bob ruffling in the cool morning breeze.

As Mac passed her the souvenir bag from Jamie Slone, their favourite winery of the week, she sat it aside, throwing her arms around Mac's neck.

"Whoa! Hey Veronica, what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry I'm not always the greatest friend," she blurted out, hugging tightly. "Or that I'm not always good at being open. But I love you so much, and I always have your back."

Mac's hand rubbed circles on her upper back. "Like I'm the picture of emotional health? I work more than anyone should to avoid dating for longer than a few weeks. I've known you for a long time. Your heart may not be on your sleeve, but I know I can count on you."

Brushing away a stray tear, Veronica pulled back and smiled. "Good. Because you can. And you'll keep me updated on your schedule? I want to have a little party to celebrate my extremely hasty nuptials, and I need you there."

"Absolutely. I'll try to stick to domestic gigs for the next couple of months if I can help it."

Goodbyes exchanged and Pony loaded into the backseat with a chew toy to keep her busy, Veronica settled in for the drive back to Neptune. With her iPod connected via the Aux, she scrolled to a playlist she'd simply called _Survival_ and hit shuffle. Her lips curved into a smile as one of her favourite Sia tracks began to play. She nudged the volume button on the steering wheel, singing along at the top of her lungs as she made the turn-off for the 101.

"_Don't give up, I won't give up  
Don't give up, no no no_

_I'm free to be the greatest, I'm alive…"_

* * *

Logan's deployment lasted two months, with no Skype calls home for the first two weeks. Frustrated and fearful, she busied herself with taking her father to surgery consults, checking in on Matty and even babysitting for Wallace. The latter had raised her long-time friend's eyebrows so high, they nearly disappeared into his neatly trimmed hair. And while yes, she'd been more of an unofficial auntie in the "maxing the Visa with toys and clothes" sense, Veronica didn't dislike children, per se. It was what they represented within her relationship with Logan that made her skin crawl.

Marriage was a huge step for her, but babies were a giant leap for Mars-kind. The genetics alone were daunting.

_Hi, baby Mars! Your daddy has a history of substance abuse and mood issues, mommy has anxiety problems, both of your grandmothers classify as alcoholics, and your paternal grandfather is a murderous hebephile. Good luck!_

During her week with Mac, she'd come to recognize that little Noah Fennel was bearing the cross of her anxiety, which was straining her friendship with Wallace. That couldn't continue. She'd already fucked everything up with Nicole beyond repair, proving she'd never make any new friends. She'd have to keep her long-time bestie close—ergo, offering a chance for Wallace and Shae to enjoy some quality time sans bottles, crying and nuclear waste-filled diapers.

It went surprisingly well. Noah was a content child, easily distracted by a toy or a silly voice. She only had to call her dad once for advice, which she viewed as a triumph. Once she discovered Noah enjoyed music, she found the local 90s throwback station on the radio and danced around with him in her arms until his eyes were drooping shut. She even updated her Instagram story with an impromptu performance of 2Pac's California Love, featuring a babbling baby Fennel.

_Take that, naysayers! Veronica Mars is a domestic goddess!_

The gesture was a desperately needed olive branch, accepted as such. Wallace's thank you was heavy with emotion, and Shae's surprised smile at Veronica's offer to take Noah once a month told her this was the path to a better future.

She still didn't want her own children. That might never change. But she would be the best damn auntie ever to set foot in Neptune.

The Navy had confirmed they were safe from further retaliation after their honeymoon, but hearing it from Logan upon his return home lifted a weight off her. That insider knowledge he possessed was more comforting than a standard-issue visit from Random Lieutenant Number 5. He also revealed that the two officers who'd erroneously confirmed their would-be assassins were dead had been removed from Logan's team. He'd informed his CO that he would request discharge otherwise and the paperwork was swiftly filed.

"They were green, and I have a lot of patience for new members of Intelligence. It's a huge shift. But their mistakes nearly cost me _you_, and I will never tolerate anyone taking chances with your life," Logan told her.

His return home had synced poorly with her case load; she was buried deep in a corporate espionage case referred to her by Mac. It required long hours, trips to New York and DC, and frankly, she couldn't bear to share Logan when she had so little free time. It was a case that felt safer that her last—computer files and surveillance—but she was still on edge, expecting the worst.

Logan saw through her, of course, tagging along to New York and DC because he "missed her" and not at all to serve as a bodyguard. She pretended to believe him, and he pretended he wasn't tracking her every move, ready to pounce, should she be in danger. Her side still ached at times where she'd been shot, but she denied it to everyone.

By the time she wrapped the case, Logan was getting that damn call again and he swiftly disappeared for another five weeks. Her only comfort was that this assignment afforded almost daily Skype calls, usually in the early morning. Each day, she'd tug the laptop into bed with her and Pony and they'd chat for a few minutes while she was half-asleep. Logan loved the mornings by his own admission, because it was when she was too sleepy to be guarded. On what would be the second-last day of this deployment, he took full advantage of her pre-coffee weakness.

"You know what I was thinking of last night?"

Veronica stroked Pony's side, hugging her closer. "Hmm?"

"That crazy wedding scrapbook you brought to the hotel, when we were trying to find my mom. You remember that?"

Veronica giggled, shaking her head. "Ahh, yes. That collection of taffeta and satin-infused nightmares? Why did that come to mind?"

Logan's hand fiddled with a pencil, absently twirling it. "It was obviously exaggeration, something staged, but I just thought… Did you want a proper wedding?"

"We had a proper wedding, Logan. Justice of the Peace, licence, two witnesses. We even had a traditional kiss."

"No, no, of course. Just… did you rush to that to prove to me that you wouldn't back out? Was that what you wanted?"

Veronica frowned, sitting up against the headboard. "I'm starting to think it wasn't what _you_ wanted."

"Growing up, my entire life was _grand events_. Pomp and circumstance. I just wanted to marry you, Veronica. Swear in front of witnesses that I would be with you for the rest of my life. I would have done that in our front yard with Dick officiating. I just… want to be sure that you got what you wanted, because if not, I'd marry you again. I'd do it annually, if it made you happy."

Logan was leaning closer to the computer, his fingers grazing the screen. Trying to touch her from across the world. She closed her eyes, imagined him tracing her jawline. It was heavenly.

"My only regret is all of our friends couldn't attend," she assured him. "The big princess day, the fancy dress—that hasn't been me for a long time. I loved our wedding. It was simple and low-key, like our home."

"Alright. I had to ask." Logan's head turned away, noticing something off-screen. "That's my time. I might not be able to call for a few days, so don't worry. I love you, Veronica."

"I love you too. Come back to me."

"Always."

The call disconnected and Veronica pressed her face into Pony's fur, blotting away tears. She knew Logan too well. He wanted a little _pomp and circumstance_, but not the brash Lynn Echolls spectacle kind. The moment he stepped through their door, she'd have to arrange that party she'd been meaning to have. No delays. No hesitation. No selfish days of sex, lest he be deployed again in a hurry. It had been almost four months now, and Mac was chafing to take lucrative assignments overseas.

It was time to celebrate being Mrs. Veronica Mars.

* * *

Logan came home on a Friday morning, as handsome and injury-free as she remembered him. Wasting no time, she'd asked Wallace to quickly organize a classy soiree, trusting him to invite their nearest and dearest—"And Dick," she'd joked.

No matter their history, Dick was Logan's friend and away from booze and bars, he could be a thoughtful, good-hearted guy. That first deployment after their reunion had been trying, especially with her father in hospital and Weevil fighting bullshit charges. Dick, to her surprise, had dropped by every Wednesday night with a pizza. The first time, she'd been wary, but it eventually became a welcome respite from the worry. He'd also apologized for his part in Shelly's party, which she'd graciously accepted. It wasn't enough to undo years of strain, but it took the acrimonious edge off their ongoing Sarcasm Olympics.

Somehow, it didn't faze her when she was whisked into a limo with Logan on Sunday afternoon, courtesy of Dick, with the destination unknown. Wallace had assured her that she would like the party, and that the guest list had been strictly controlled. Dressed in a white tea-length dress with a halter cut top, she nestled into Logan's side and sighed happily.

"Do you know where we're going?"

"Yep."

"So you can tell me! Excellent!"

"Not a chance. You're getting surprised, whether you like it or not," Logan insisted, kissing the top of her head.

Veronica grumbled, kicking her foot. "I hate surprises."

"Oh, I know. Except that you don't truly hate surprises. You hate them if you know they're coming."

He wasn't wrong, but she sulked anyway, knowing it would earn her a few extra kisses en route. "Will I like where we're going?"

"I think that soft marshmallow center of yours will be extra gooey today. I already told your dad to film it if you cry. No one will believe me otherwise."

"What on earth could make me cry?" Veronica gasped, clutching her chest. "Wait, is Dick stripping for us? Because _that_ would make me cry."

"Good crying, Veronica. Unless there's something you're not telling me?"

Laughing, Veronica glanced out the window, trying to determine their destination from the route being taken. "Trust me, if I was going to sob happy tears for Dick naked, it would have been at Hearst. Must have seen his bare ass at least five times in first year. And we're going to the Grand, aren't we?"

Logan winked. "Or maybe we know you and we're intentionally driving there to mess with you."

"Maybe." Veronica pressed the button to lower the privacy screen, determined to get answers. "Hi there! Where are we going?"

"Mr. Casablancas has advised me not to disclose our destination," the elderly gentleman replied warmly.

"Is it a long trip? I need to pee."

"You peed right before we left!" Logan grumbled.

"Maybe I'm pregnant! There's a Navy seamen joke in here somewhere. How long, please?"

The driver hesitated, then blurted out, "Ten minutes."

"It's the Grand. Thank you!" As Veronica restored the privacy screen, she glanced at Logan, whose skin had taken on a ghostly pallor. "Um, Logan? You alright?"

Shaking himself subtly, he forced a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Connecting the dots, her eyes widened. "_Oh_. Oh, no! I am not pregnant. Zero chance, unless your swimmers have defeated my IUD at last."

"I didn't think—I mean, I'm not against that."

"I know—"

"I just…. Are _you_ against it? Because I thought you were," Logan explained, his mouth settling into a half-frown.

"I am. For now," she clarified, as his frown deepened. "I don't know if that will change, but this marriage thing? It took a lot of stomach-turning faith. Let me get used to this and we can talk about it when you're not off in some faraway land, saving the world."

"That is more than fair." Logan leaned over to softly kiss her lips. "Besides, if your hollow leg is any indication, I'm going to need a promotion if we ever want to keep a baby Mars fed."

"Look, my stomach packs food like you pack clothes for deployment: _very _efficiently." Veronica snuggled into his side, closing her eyes. "Wake me when we get there."

They made it to the Grand in the projected ten minutes, where a concierge waited with a bouquet of flowers and a sign simply stating MARS. Logan insisted on opening the door for her, rushing around the limo to do so. Veronica stepped out onto the curb, accepting the proffered bundle of what she realized were lilies. She inhaled their scent, smiling. It was perfect.

"Mr. and Mrs. Mars? Follow me, please."

They were escorted to a private elevator, where the concierge swiped a card and pressed the button for the Penthouse.

_No way…._

"Logan? Are we going where I think we're going?"

"And where do you think we're going?" he deflected with a chuckle.

Logan's old suite. Where they'd first had sex. Where they'd broken up and made up. Where the great Epic speech had happened. And as they entered the suite, her jaw dropped. The hotel had renovated several times since their youth, opting for a brighter décor to contrast with the classic metal fixtures, but it was the delicate twinkle lights, tasteful floral arrangements and the stunning table of goodies that elevated it. To her right, she noticed an easel-esque display featuring photos of Logan and herself from over the years.

"Wow," she murmured. "Logan, do you see this?"

"Dick did a good job."

"Dick?"

"The photos are all me," Wallace announced, emerging from the western bedroom. "But the location, catering and décor? All Dick. He recommended the caterer, the florist, everything. Paid, too."

_Well, damn!_ She'd have to let him win a few rounds of snark as a thank you.

From the eastern bedroom came a chorus of voices: "Congratulations!"

Logan and Veronica spun around, laughing as a stream of their nearest and dearest emerged from their hiding place: her father, Mac, Cliff, Shae and Dick, complete with a party pig. Of course he had one. They embraced everyone in turn, saving the last hugs for Wallace and Dick.

"C'mon, Ronnie, one hit. It's champagne this time!" Dick pleaded, offering her the mouthpiece.

"You know what? Let's do it!" Taking a large pull of champagne, she beamed. "This is beautiful, Dick. And the lilies? That was a really nice touch."

Dick Casablancas, shameless from birth, blushed and averted his gaze. "Yeah, well, I thought it would be a good idea, but I asked Logan first. Seriously, congrats. The road was rocky, but you two crazy kids made it!"

"Oh just admit you're a big softie underneath that bravado," Veronica teased.

"Never!" Taking a gulp from the party pig, Dick hooted loudly. "Where's the cupcakes? My weed brownie's kicked in and I am starving!"

The next hour flew by in laughter and playful dances to soft music, many of the songs holding significance for her and Logan—her husband's doing, she was sure. Dick made the critical error of challenging Wallace to a dance-off, resulting in a hilarious throwdown to Run DMC's "It's Like That". Even Logan got in on the fun, taking a shot at breakdancing that ended with him awkwardly flopping on the floor. Wallace won, as Veronica knew when she encouraged their little battle: her Papa Bear had gotten drunk once and shown off during their first year at Hearst.

A knock on the door went ignored at first, with the loud laughter and music, but Veronica caught it on the second _rat-tat-tat_. She slipped away, still giggling at Logan's sorry moves as she opened the door—and froze.

"Hey, V."

"Weevil?"

His head was freshly shaved, his pinstriped button-down shirt and black slacks neatly pressed. Miss the neck tattoo peeking out and he'd pass for Joe Every-Latino-Man. But Veronica had known him for most of her life, and the faint worry lines and the world-weariness were difficult to hide. She would know; God knew she was not born with her beautiful, bag-free eyes. They were one hundred percent Maybelline.

Weevil held out a small box, wrapped neatly in white paper with a green bow. "Look, I know we might have had words, but Wallace said I should come by. But if you'd rather me bounce—"

"No, stay," she cut him off, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "But my dad and Cliff are here, so, um, be prepared?"

"I think I can handle an ambulance chaser and the former sheriff," Weevil replied wryly, puffing up his chest. "Where should I put this?"

"There's a table over there." She gestured to the west side of the room and watched as Weevil quietly crossed the floor and deposited the gift.

"Everything okay?" Logan whispered in her ear.

"Not sure yet," she admitted. "I'm still a little ticked at him for taking that deal after Cliff told me how much we could have netted in court. But he did bail my dad and I out of a jam a few months ago. Guess that makes him the bigger person."

Logan's arm wrapped around her, leading her towards Wallace and Shae. "I know that must be _pissing you off_ on unholy levels. A suggestion?"

Veronica frowned. "Can I decline?"

"Nope. Clear the air. And remember, you wanting to stick it to Celeste and the Neptune police is a longstanding personal vendetta. Weevil was just a guy trying to save his reputation and take care of his family."

Veronica watched as Weevil approached Mac, falling into casual chat but maintaining a stiff, uncomfortable posture. Logan had raised a valid point: Celeste—and any scheming she engaged in or inspired—was a trigger point for her. The woman could do no right, and hell hath no fury like a Veronica repeatedly scorned. Add in police corruption that caused her father lasting harm, simmer to a boiling rage.

While she still felt that the case Cliff and her father had helped construct was strong enough to win big, she tried to remember that maybe "good enough" was all Weevil had been aiming for. A sure thing would be more appealing than a gamble, even if the odds favoured their side. Hell, hadn't she initially defended the deal to Cliff herself with that very reasoning?

"Excuse me," she mumbled, crossing the room towards Weevil and tapping his shoulder. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Talk or taze?" Weevil quipped.

Veronica laughed, in spite of herself. "Talk. Let's step out onto the balcony. With more wine," she added, grabbing a fresh glass from the bar.

Weevil grabbed a bottle of beer as he followed her out onto the expansive balcony. She positioned herself out of range of the windows, not caring to be watched by her surely curious father. Knocking back half of her wine, she took in Weevil's posture: firm, confident, but wary. Waiting for trouble.

"Before anything else is said, thank you for what you did at the cabin," she began. "We were in a bad spot, and there's a very real chance my dad…" Her voice trailed off, remembering his frantic dash to the car for ammunition. "You had no obligation to be there, and I'm really glad you were."

Weevil nodded slightly, taking a large swig of beer. "I knew what those guys were in town for, and when I heard where they were headed and why, I put two and two together. I was never good at math, but even I can sum that one up."

"Still, it was a risk—"

"It's not a crush," Weevil blurted out, taking a step forward.

Veronica rocked back on her heels. "I'm sorry. What?"

"Everyone always thinks that's why I cut you so much slack, you included. Some high school crush. Even my sister thinks that shit. And hey, I won't lie. I wouldn't have turned you down back then, V. But that ain't it. Never has been."

Weevil slid his hand in his pocket, retrieving a wallet-sized photograph, its edges wrinkled and bent. He passed it to her, face down. She reached for the image, instinctively knowing what she'd find, but still breathless as she stared at Lilly's smiling face.

"I couldn't protect her. She loved you. I have to make it up to her, no matter how much you fucking hate it." Weevil's lips curved into a half-smile. "Plus, you've always come through for me when it matters most. You're loyal. That's everything to me."

"I haven't been very loyal of late," she admitted, rubbing her thumb over the image. "Things with Logan were shaky, and with my dad needing surgery we couldn't afford and Cliff saying we could have afforded it if you hadn't settled… I got angry. And it wasn't fair, because you were just trying to do the best you could for your family. You saw a sure thing, and you took it."

"Yeah. Yeah, I did. Like I said, we don't all have the options you do. I'm going to be stuck here until I die. I have to make that work, whatever it takes. In the end, it didn't matter, did it? Jade left me and I see my kid for one day a month."

Weevil turned away, leaning on the railing. Setting her glass down, she joined him at the rail, staring out at the ocean at his side.

"This place is one of the layers of Dante's Inferno," she mused.

"It ain't paradise, but it's what we got."

"I'm sorry about Valentina. Is there anything I can do?"

"Nah, I made my bed. But thanks, V." His fingers lightly drummed on the rail as he drew a steadying breath. "So, we good?"

"That's up to you, isn't it?"

"Huh. Veronica Mars doesn't have all the answers, after all." Weevil chuckled, turning to face her. "Just wait until our next reunion, when I tell everyone about _that_."

Veronica feigned surprise. "Oh, you didn't hear? I single-handedly got all future Neptune High reunions cancelled. I'm just that good at ruining shit."

"Looks like you got something right in there," he countered.

"I hope so. I really do. Here." She handed back the photo of Lilly and reached for her wine. "And for the record, I don't think any of us could have protected Lilly. Not forever. We did our best. I have to believe that."

"But you don't. Not all the way," he countered, pocketing the photo. "We're a lot alike, V."

Yeah, they were. She'd always understood his posturing was self-preservation, a necessary bravado in a world that gave him no advantages. It was why she'd never given up on him, even when her father would write him off as a lost cause.

Weevil extended his beer towards her. "To bygones."

Smiling warmly, she clinked her glass gently against the amber bottle. "Bygones."

They downed their drinks and embraced as friends once more. As they returned to the party, Veronica reflected on their conversation, focusing on one particular word: loyalty. In this room, she was surrounded by people who had continually proven themselves to be loyal, in one way or another. Suspicion was second nature for her now, but with this core group, she had to let that go.

They'd more than earned it.

* * *

"Okay, Pony, slow down!" Veronica laughed, struggling to keep up with the rambunctious dog dragging her along the beach.

Pony, however, was having none of it. Flashing those big wide eyes that melted hearts all over town, she bounded towards the water, where Logan was emerging from a morning swim. Giving up, Veronica released the leash, letting her pounce her dad. Logan laughed, wavering slightly but holding his ground.

"Hey, girl! Are you being naughty?"

Pony's tail wagged wildly as she immediately sat beside him, awaiting a command. Because of course, she'd listen to Logan. Some things never changed.

"Oh, you're just a perfectly obedient pup, aren't you?" he cooed, smirking in Veronica's direction.

"For you, maybe."

"She listens to you, too. At least once a day."

"Yeah, when I say, 'Time for F-O-O-D' and that's about it," she countered. "Speaking of, I feel like breakfast on the boardwalk this morning. Care to join me?"

"Ah, so you saw the notice?"

"Yup," she replied, popping the last 'P' loud enough to startle Pony.

"Alright, let's head back to the house. I'll grab a quick shower and we can go splurge on Belgian waffles."

Logan grabbed Pony's leash, walking their now angelic dog back to the house with his free arm wrapped around her shoulder in reassurance. She'd known once the NUTTs had pushed their nonsense through council that it was only a matter of time before the beach was fully gentrified and rent controls died. She'd even joked that they'd raze her home by year's end—pave her paradise, put up a snooty café. But waking up to the sixty-day notice of rent increase—and spitting her coffee at the 300% mark-up on the unit—had ripped her heart out all the same. Mars Investigations was busier than ever, thanks to media coverage of the Spring Break Bomber, but with her dad preparing for surgery, she could only manage so many cases. It was barely enough to keep her bills paid now.

Logan showered as she sulked on the couch, hugging Pony to her chest. How would she afford anything remotely close to work, even with Logan's help? She'd been adamant from the start that everything be split 50-50, but her half was barely enough to rent a basement apartment in the county.

"You ready?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah."

Logan pulled her close, his lips finding hers and claiming them with an intensity that caught her off guard. Instinctively, her arms wrapped around his neck as his hands hooked beneath her knees, hoisting her up against the wall. The kiss deepened, her tongue tangling with his as his hands cupped her ass. Suddenly, waffles didn't seem so pressing.

"We're going for breakfast," Logan murmured, breaking away. "I can hear your thoughts, you know."

"Then why are you insisting we leave the house?" she whined, tugging his lower lip gently with her teeth.

"Because you're going to need fuel for what I plan to do to you." With a gentle kiss, he lowered her to the ground. "Come on. I don't want to see you hangry."

They made the ten minute walk to their favourite restaurant in silence, hand in hand as they strolled in the late-summer heat. Veronica sensed that her delayed sexual gratification had more to do with their now precarious living arrangement than her blood sugar, a theory proven sound when Logan ordered extra bacon with his usual omelette. He was stressed out, which meant he was expecting a fight.

As the waitress dropped off their freshly squeezed orange juice, Logan reached across the table to hold her hand. "You already know what I'm going to say."

"I do. And you know how I feel about pulling my own weight."

Logan nodded slowly, his free hand fidgeting with a sugar packet. "This is different now."

"Because we're married?" Veronica pulled away, arms folding over her chest.

"Yes. And also not. Veronica, hear me out, alright?"

Taking a sip of her juice, she waved her hand, gesturing for him to continue. There was no sense ruining the experience of perfect waffles covered in berries and cream with what would be an infuriating argument they'd already had ten times.

"Whether you like it or not, everything I have is yours now. If something happens to me—"

"No. Don't."

"It's a fact. Even before I proposed. I drew up a new will five years ago."

"We were barely dating again," Veronica protested.

"Didn't matter. You were in the old one, too. It was a split between charities and you." Logan hesitated briefly, his gaze fixed upon her. "I told you, it's always been you. Tomorrow, I'm adding you to my bank accounts, _no arguments_. If we're going to need to spend more money each month, I want to be sure things are in order when I'm deployed for long periods."

Fuck. The logic was sound. She shrugged in defeat, slumping in her chair.

"If I'm going to remain in the Navy, and you know I want to, then you need to let me do something. After what happened six months ago, it took everything in me to deploy again. To leave you here, and not know if you were safe." As she opened her mouth to protest, Logan held up his hand. "This isn't about you being capable of taking care of yourself. You're stronger than anyone I know. But if those two had come to our door, you wouldn't have known you were in danger before they'd emptied a clip into your chest."

"This was a one-off," she insisted. "You told me that. The Navy told me that."

"Yes, and the general paper trail for me leads back to Quonochontaug, Rhode Island. But one mistake was one too many. I can't focus on my job if I'm worried you're in danger because of me. And being distracted will get me killed."

"I can't lose you," she whispered hoarsely, reaching out across the table. "You have to be careful, Logan. You always come back. You promised me."

"I can be careful, if you let me buy us a house."

"I'm sorry. A house? I know the Navy pays reasonably well, but Neptune real estate prices are a nightmare now."

"I'm not talking about Navy money."

A beat, then realization: _Echolls money_. "You told me you blew through your dad's money years ago. That you spent the last of it on rehab. Was that a lie?"

"An omission," Logan admitted. "I invested most of it in retirement funds early on. I did blow through a good twenty million in those first few years. I'm embarrassed by it. But there's still money coming in. Residuals from movies played on TV. Merchandise, believe it or not. My father also owned significant shares in the studio, and that terrible new action series they've been churning out has been profitable. I've let it collect in an account for years. I haven't been able to let myself touch it."

That, she could understand. His father's legacy was tainted by his monstrous behaviour. He'd kept what he needed to live until the Navy supported him. Aside from his sports car, they'd lived relatively modestly since reuniting.

"So why touch it now?"

Logan held up a finger as their waitress approached with their meals, setting them down with a friendly smile. They thanked her quietly and Veronica reached across the table, swiping a slice of Logan's bacon.

"I told you to order some," he chastised her.

"Why? You already ordered it. The money: why now?"

"Because buying a home means I can wipe most of it out in one shot, and I can spite the man who tried to kill you by protecting you on his dime. It feels poetic. That's the honest answer. The answer I'm telling Jane is that she's right: it stopped being his money when he died, and I'm free to do whatever I want with it."

Veronica smirked, spearing a raspberry with her fork. "I like your reasoning better. But define 'house' for me."

"Not a mansion. Nothing like my childhood home. More like… the house you had when I met you, only with a very elaborate security system."

Veronica did some quick math, wincing at the results. Still way more than she felt comfortable with Logan spending, even if it was a middle finger to his father in hell. The property taxes would be rough, but not much worse than their rent now. _A three bedroom house, nothing wild… room for an office and a guest room… _

"Veronica? What are you thinking?"

"I'm really, really uncomfortable, but I'm trying to process it. Can I do that?"

"Of course. Take your time."

Logan turned his attention to his meal, leaving her with her thoughts. Her pride came from a life of hard work and middle-class at best. She had never wanted to be a kept wife of the '09 zip. And while she wanted to insist they get a mortgage like her parents and stretch their dollars together, she knew that would mean moving to a less desirable neighbourhood—not exactly the way to convince Logan she'd be safe. Hell, she'd been mugged living on the beach.

_The Navy is important to him. It saved him, like finding Lilly's killer saved me. I can't ask him to give it up._ Veronica popped a chunk of waffle in her mouth, chewing it slowly. _And he'll get discharged if I won't agree. He'll find a way. _She knew that stubborn look of his. He was going to dig in on this one.

A modest house was a compromise. It was him acknowledging the life she wanted to lead, choosing an option she could afford to split the bills on. He was trying to make her happy. And, if she was honest with herself, a lingering fear of future visitors from Logan's missions haunted her sleep even now.

"I want equal say on the place we choose," she demanded.

"It's our home. We're shopping together," Logan agreed readily.

"And I need to be able to pay half of the bills."

Logan broke a piece of omelette off with his fork. "I assumed as much. Anything else?"

"Buying a home does not include the furniture, and anything left of your father's money goes to charity, or Trina. I don't want a dime of it after this." Logan's mouth opened but she waved him off. "You need to come home alive. If I have to agree to this to keep you safe, I will. You can't ask me for more than that, Logan."

"Okay, but the security system is not furniture and comes from that account."

"Fine."

"I love you, Veronica." His words were earnest, tentative and sweet, like the first time he'd confessed his feelings for her.

She leaned across the table, kissing him. "Love you, too. Now, let me eat so we can go home. I recall you promising me a continuation of certain events."

"I hope you're not fond of the clothes you're wearing today," he murmured. "Because I intend to hide them from you until tomorrow."

Veronica squeezed her thighs together beneath the table. Logan's eyes were almost black with desire as he stared at her. His thumb reached out, brushing away errant whipped cream from her lip and she shivered.

"Maybe we take this to go?"

* * *

**Three down, one to go. Our last chapter will bring us to Jane's office. What will that conversation look like, with Logan alive? What brings Veronica there? What about the voicemail? You'll have to wait and see.**

**Please leave a review, and let me know what you think. Are there any other season 4 plot holes surrounding Veronica's relationships that you want me to try and fix? Any treats you hope to see? (note: this is a T fic, so no smut, sorry!) I'll do my best to honour what I can!**


	4. Epic

**When I started this fic, I wanted to do more than merely fix the last ten minutes of season 4. I wanted to take what Rob had written "to make it hurt more" and transform it into something that would make it beautiful and powerful. I wanted to take trauma torture porn and turn it into hope.**

**This final chapter is long, spanning 7 months. I've made a few very minor dialogue adjustments and additions. I've assumed, based on the number of Murderheads meetings and Penn implying it's a weekly thing, that season 4 spanned approximately 4 weeks of time, placing the wedding near the end of March. I have interpreted "one year later" to mean "approximately one year".**

**But I have taken what broke this fandom, and made it beautiful, I hope.**

**With much love, Marshmallows, let's end on an epic note.**

* * *

**PART FOUR: Epic**

"I give up. I'm going to be one of those kids who lives in her dad's basement until she dies."

Veronica threw her purse onto the couch, apologizing as Pony whined and scurried down the hall towards the bedroom. Yanking open the fridge, she was pleased to find two of her favourite cheap wine coolers lurking in the door. Logan had given up hard liquor, but wine and its derivatives—coolers, spritzers and sangria—were occasional indulgences, and as she waved the bottles at him, he nodded enthusiastically.

House hunting was worse than a stakeout during finals week.

They'd spent the last three days looking at homes across Neptune, veering into county territory to keep to their agreed-upon criteria. Thirteen houses later, not a single prospect was on the table. Too big for Veronica's liking. Too small for Logan's. An architectural design that repulsed them and wasn't worth fixing up. Too many security gaps to close up. Too far from work. The list went on and on.

Today had been particularly heartbreaking, however. Veronica opened the coolers, passing one to Logan and taking a large swig of her own. The first home had been on Wallace's street—not exactly close to the beach, but close to a park for walking Pony, and close to her best friend. A safe, quiet neighbourhood, just as Logan wanted. There was just one major issue: warning signs of a former meth lab.

"I wondered why the asking price was so low for this area," Logan had whispered to her. "It must be a money pit. I wouldn't touch it without a full structural assessment."

Sure enough, the moment Logan had mentioned one, the realtor had become extremely nervous and mentioned a much better home nearby that they _had_ to see. It was beautiful, alright—and had just been sold to a couple who'd viewed it the previous morning.

"We'll find something," Logan assured her, sitting on the couch and setting her purse on the table. "Although I think I'm going to hire a different agent to help us."

"We're down to forty-five days, and it might just be me searching if you get shipped out," she grumbled. "You know what pisses me off the most? They're not even renting these places out to rich families. The owners are planning to convert to Air BNBs. Jenny from downstairs was telling me yesterday after Pony's evening walk."

She plopped onto the couch, curling into Logan's side. His arm wrapped around her, squeezing gently as they quietly drank. From down the hall, she could hear Pony's collar jangle and a soft _thump_. Their dog had the right idea: jump into bed for the rest of the day, and ignore this mess.

"What would you say to a pick-me-up from Mama Leone's?"

"That depends. Are we talking lasagna of sadness or manicotti of despair?"

Tilting her chin up, Logan kissed her nose. "Why not both?"

"Then I would say you're the best husband ever."

Carefully sliding out from beneath her, Logan smirked. "To which I would say, that was a critical error, jumping to the superlative. You could have had garlic bread with cheese, too."

"Damn it!" Veronica pouted, batting her eyes furiously. "What if I promise you a hand job gratuity?"

Shrugging on his jacket, he furrowed his brow in mock contemplation. "Make it oral and I'll throw in tiramisu."

"Sold! You're not calling it in first?"

"Oh, I am. I just figured I'd take Pony for a quick walk while I—hey, girl!" Logan laughed as he was nearly tackled by an excited canine in search of her leash. "Alright, just a quick one. See you in a few."

Veronica waved, draining her drink and turning on the TV in search of distraction. She cursed as a casual flip of the channels landed her on an episode of _House Hunters_. Maybe refurbishing a former meth lab really wouldn't be so bad. Hell, wouldn't using a criminal's money to do it be the circle of life? Settling on an episode of _Schitt's Creek_, she stretched out onto the couch and lost herself in snarky humour.

Pony returned in ten minutes, Logan in thirty with a large bag brimming with her favourite comfort food. They dispensed with plates, opting for trading trays back and forth over a rerun of _Murder, She Wrote._

"Clearly, Jessica is a serial killer," Veronica decided, waving her fork in the air. "There's no way this many murders happen in a tiny town called Cabot Cove."

"This one's in New York, though," Logan countered, "Then again, Jessica comes to visit her best friend and whoops, there's a body."

"Some people are cursed." Behind her, a cell phone rang—Logan's phone. "Speaking of curses, I feel like that might be proof of mine."

Logan grimaced, rising to his feet. "Don't count deployments before they're dispatched." Glancing at the display, he nodded knowingly. "I have to take this."

Veronica muted the TV and speared a mouthful of manicotti. No new home in sight and now, no one to house hunt with. She knew this was the life of a Navy spouse, and she didn't regret being with Logan, but couldn't life toss her a damn softball for once?

Logan's end of the call was the usual cursory replies: the _uh huh_, _yes_, _I understand_ language she'd grown familiar with over the years. She could only hope this assignment came with advance notice. It was rare, but it did happen. If not, at least there was tiramisu in the fridge to console her.

As Logan hung up, Veronica rose to her feet. "So, where are you not allowed to tell me you're deploying to this time, and when do you need to be at the base?"

"That wasn't my CO. That was Shariq, my lawyer."

"Lawyer? Is everything okay?"

Logan smiled, taking her hand. "It definitely is. I found us a house."

Her heels dug in at the singular pronoun. "I'm sorry, _you_ found us a house? We had an agreement—"

"Yes, that you have some say in our home, correct?"

"Yeah, and—"

His arm rose suddenly, twirling her around in a circle as she huffed in protest. "Well, I distinctly recall you having one hundred percent of the say in our current home."

Veronica's free hand flew out to steady herself against his chest. "I'm not sure I follow, Fred Astaire. We're being evicted from here by the owners. Hence the last three days of endless disappointment and the blow job tiramisu?"

"Yeah, but if _we're_ the owners, why would we evict ourselves?"

Her eyes widened in question; he affirmed with a kiss.

"You bought this place. The _whole house_?"

"I had Shariq make a call. He pointed out the average costs of repairing damages annually after spring break shenanigans, and we offered half a million over the assessed value. Took the owner fifteen minutes to agree to sell. Shariq's sent him the papers."

"Logan, this is a beachfront triplex! That's not a 'modest home'!" Veronica leaned against the couch, mentally constructing the space. "That's like, what, four bedrooms?"

"Five, with three baths and a hot tub on the roof, apparently," he replied casually. "We'll have to do renovations, convert it back to a single family home. If you think you'll miss the puking and partying of spring breakers, we could leave the basement as a rental unit for income. It would take care of the property taxes on its own."

"Frat bros can rot, but you may be onto something with a regular rental. We could keep it cheaper, for someone who needs a break, like a scholarship student from Hearst," she mused aloud. "Wait, stop, I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm not going to believe it until the deal is signed."

"Me neither, but Shariq is very confident. He said the guy seemed overwhelmed, like he was doing Air BNB because it was the _cool thing_ and not because he had a single clue how to run one properly as a business." Pulling her close, Logan pressed his forehead to hers. "I know I didn't ask first, but you've always loved it here, aside from the lack of space, which we just solved. Is this okay?"

"It's perfect," Veronica assured him.

"What happened outside… that's not going to bother you?" he queried.

It was a fair question, and for the first few weeks after their honeymoon, it had upset her to glance down that road, or hear the street cleaning alert on her phone. The passage of time had eased that fear for her. Inside their home, she was safe and loved. She would not let Penn Epner or anyone else take away the beautiful memories they'd made here.

"It did at first, but not now. This is our home. I love it here. Besides, absolutely nothing else has worked out for us, so I take that as a sign."

"Then we're not going anywhere."

Their lips met in a soft kiss, their bodies entwined. Trees taking root, like their family: sturdy and strong.

* * *

The next two weeks were a blur of paperwork, closing costs, contractors and final surgical consults. Logan had insisted Veronica be on the title as co-owner, which meant finding out just how much Logan had paid for their home. The $3.5 million price tag had made her nauseous, but he'd gently reminded her that it was to keep them both safe. Once renovations were complete and a fund created to cover several years of monitoring and maintenance for their security system, the rest would be divided between Trina and charities of Veronica's choosing.

While plotting out the best way to unify the upper suite with their own, Veronica couldn't help but raise a question niggling in her brain since Logan had revealed his less-than-broke status.

"With how bad things have been for my dad since the accident, why didn't you…?"

"Why didn't I give your dad the money?" Logan completed.

"I mean, it's your money, and I understand why it's tainted for you, but I have to ask," she reluctantly pressed. "Especially now that we know he could have been feeling better for years with this surgery."

Setting aside the floor plans, Logan frowned. "I did offer it to him, Veronica. Repeatedly. He turned me down every time."

"I'm sorry, my father did what?"

His long fingers lightly drummed upon the table, something he did when deep in thought. "I offered in the hospital, right after the accident. You'd gone to get him that sub he wanted when he woke up. I told him that any specialist he wanted, I'd pay. That it was the least I could do to thank you both for being in my life for so long. He told me he was sure it was fine, that the doctors said the first surgery went well and with physio, he'd be good as new. I was skeptical, but your dad is proud. I get that, Veronica. I admire it a lot. It's not asshole pride, you know? It's just… looking after yourself."

"Yeah, he's always been like that," she agreed. "Remember how he didn't want me to move in when he came home? Said he could take care of himself. Idiot," she scoffed lovingly.

"When it was clear that physio wasn't working, I asked him again. I told him I had no desire to use the money for myself, but I was happy to give it to him. He said that he felt the same about the money, but…" Logan cleared his throat, his voice growing hoarse. "He said, 'I appreciate the love behind the offer, son'. First time he'd said that to me."

Veronica edged her chair closer, her hand rubbing soft circles on his back. A father—a real father—was all Logan had ever wanted. She'd never been able to pinpoint exactly when her father had gone from casual acceptance of Logan to truly embracing him as part of the inner circle, but now she knew.

"Oh, Logan. I know you two got off to a bad start, but he really loves you. He sees what I see in you."

"Yeah, I guess he does. Anyway, it's been our running joke ever since for his birthday. I ask him if he wants a robotic hip and he tells me he wants some spy gadget instead. I did offer, Veronica, but I would have been a hypocrite to tell him to take the money when I couldn't make myself use it."

"But now _we're _using it, to build a home," she mused.

"Life's too short to be angry at a ghost. You matter to me. He doesn't. Not anymore."

Veronica kissed his cheek, her fingers gently combing through his hair. "No shitty parents allowed in Casa Mars. Now, because I just know you're going to be deployed while these renovations happen, what are we doing with our new rooms?"

Logan pulled the plans back to the centre of the table, walking her through the layout: the two kitchens would be merged into one as they were separated by a wall; the upper unit's master bedroom would become theirs, with their current bedroom reconfigured to an office space. A second smaller bedroom was flagged as a guest room.

"You forgot this bedroom," she nudged him, pointing to their third new room towards the front of the house.

"It doesn't have a purpose yet. That one's up to you."

"Surprised you didn't tell them to make it a nursery in hopes of swaying me with cute children's furniture," Veronica countered sarcastically, reaching for a nearby bowl of popcorn.

"For someone who doesn't want kids, you bring them up a lot."

"Uh oh, Therapy Logan's arrived. You think my Psych degree doesn't make me acutely aware of my own behaviour?" she snapped.

Leaning back in his chair, Logan threw his hands up. "I'm not looking for a fight here. I'm looking for clarity. Are you bringing this up to tell me how you feel about the subject, or to ask me how I feel?"

"I don't know! Both?"

Buying time, she stuffed a handful of popcorn in her mouth. Logan called her bluff, choosing to sit silently and watch her slowly chew. A single droplet of water escaped from the kitchen faucet, the _plunk_ as it collided with the metal below startling them both.

Swallowing her overly masticated mouthful, she sighed. "I just… I've never seen myself as a mom. Not a good one, anyway. But I know you would be an amazing father."

"That makes one of us," he replied quietly. "It's terrifying to even think about it, after my childhood. But I'm willing to try with you, if you want to try with me."

"And if I don't?" Her words were scarcely a whisper as fear's fingers tightened around her neck.

"Then we don't. You're the one person in this world I need in my life. You need to start believing that."

Belief. Faith. These were her weaknesses. Facts and evidence were her touchstones. Probabilities of genetic inheritance were facts. Divorce rates were facts. But evidence was a whole other matter. Even at their fractured worst, she'd never truly feared Logan. Whenever someone had threatened her well-being, Logan had been there, whether she asked him to or not.

He had always put her above everyone else: Hannah, Parker, Dick, Duncan. He'd seen her at her very worst, been pushed away, pushed aside, yet still shown her kindness and love. She'd rejected his proposal and he'd patiently waited for her to change her mind. Yes, this was all evidence she could rely on. She needed to remind herself of it.

"I'm enough? Just me? Because this is one of those things that couples can't usually reconcile, and I feel like we should have had this talk before you tied yourself down to me." She was rambling now, but she couldn't stop spewing words in a panicked heap at his feet. "It's not that I hate children, it's that I hate the thought of fucking them up half as much as my mother fucked me up. And I really don't know if I'm ever going to get past that fear, Logan."

"Hey, listen to me." His hands found her face, cupping her cheeks gently. "I'm ready for kids whenever you are, Veronica. But if you're never ready for them, or never want them, the life we have is enough. I want to be with you, kids or not. It's not a deal breaker for me, okay? I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay." She steadied herself within the warmth of his loving gaze. "Okay."

Rising to his feet, he stretched his hand towards her. "Come on, we're taking a stroll on the beach."

"A _stroll_?"

"I can't say the other word around our overgrown puppy. C'mon, you need sunlight and air."

"Like a plant, huh?"

"My little Mars Fly Trap. Snares evil doers and food in record-setting volumes," Logan teased.

Laughing, she followed him outside, but he was mistaken about one thing: he was her light, not the garish sun overhead. As long as he remained by her side, she could survive.

* * *

Time began to fly, seasons shifting as much as they ever did in the California sun. Light jackets and jeans became a mainstay as she played dutiful nurse to her father, who insisted he could care for himself after a hip replacement. Renovations moved ahead swiftly, converting their triplex into a duplex and tidying up the wear and tear in their future rental suite. In the midst of a series of rapid, albeit short deployments, Penn's trial finally began.

As she'd expected, it was a media circus, largely fed by Penn hiring documentary filmmakers to capture his _wrongful prosecution_. The husband and wife team had dared to approach Veronica during the trial for an interview and had earned a guttural warning: "_That man almost killed me, my father and my husband on our wedding day. He is guilty and you are fools to think otherwise._"

The courts had seen it correctly, convicting Penn on a multitude of charges and sentencing him to 320 years. The documentary streaming on Hulu, however? Only 40% of viewers were convinced Penn was actually guilty. Veronica was disgusted, yet unsurprised: had she not been personally involved, she never would have suspected the doughy pizza man with the petty "Spring Breakers suck" motive.

It was mid-January when the bulk of the renovations were finally complete. Logan was deployed and her father still housebound, albeit able to care for himself on the ground floor for short periods. This was a cause for celebration, so she called up Wallace and asked him to join her for the first walkthrough. A mini-bottle of champagne in tow, the long-time friends stepped inside what was now the home of Veronica and Logan Mars.

"I'm so excited to have a grown-up kitchen!" Veronica enthused, cooing at the sight of the remodeled space. "Now we'll actually have room to cook."

"Cook. _Sure_," Wallace teased.

"Oh come on, that was _one time_!"

"V, I've caught you two on that counter _twice_. Mac's caught you _three times_. The law of averages says you two spend as much time using it for leverage as you do for chopping vegetables."

Veronica playfully shoved Wallace's arm, leading him through the new L-shaped living space. "Like you and Shae didn't christen every surface of your new house in the nude."

"At least I spared my best friend the visual. Oh, this is cool!"

"Isn't it? Because the other unit was kinda front of house and up, it wasn't as neat to join the living rooms as the kitchens, so we made our old living room a sort of mini dining space and turned the new space into a proper living room. The other unit was so much bigger, it made more sense. And watch this!"

Veronica led the way through the living room, pausing to gesture to her right. Just beyond the steps leading to the upper floor was a sliding glass entry into their former bedroom, now an office.

"Lets you cut through the space easily. It's soundproof, but still feels open. Logan's idea."

"Lets him keep an eye on you," Wallace added coyly.

Veronica sighed. "He worries. I get it. I mean…" She lifted the hem of her sweater, revealing the thick scar on her waist. "He has a reason to be scared. I still don't like watching him get into a car. But we deal."

Wallace grimaced. "Yeah, we do. That first two days… It was tough. You almost left us."

Veronica felt her heart skip. "Left you? Wallace, do you mean that I died?"

"You stopped breathing in the ambulance," Wallace confessed, his expression pained. "Your heart was weak, but still there. They had to support your breathing until they got you into the operating room. Logan told me while we were waiting. It messed him up, badly. I thought he was going into shock, he was so pale. Kept saying if you died, it was his fault."

She remembered the cold, remembered leaning into his lap and thinking that he would keep her safe. She remembered sirens, then nothing until the chirping _beep_ of the monitoring machines in her room. No bright lights, no dead relatives offering counsel.

_Oh, Logan. _She imagined him in the ambulance, hearing those words. Hearing that her lungs had given up on her. Her blood on his hands, literally, as they took her away. _You must have been terrified. I would have been_.

"Why hasn't he ever told me this?"

"Because of the face you're making right now," Wallace replied, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I'm only telling you because I remember when you two broke up because he was being too protective. This time, Veronica? Let him be. He almost lost you."

"I almost lost him, Wallace," she reminded him quietly. "Those men finding us, me getting shot? It saved his life."

"Alright, so remember how you felt when you thought he was dead, and if he ever pisses you off by hovering outside that glass wall, cut him a little slack. But only a little. Man likes a challenge or he wouldn't have married _you_."

Veronica laughed, hugging Wallace tightly. "Alright, Papa Bear. I'll take it under advisement. When did you get so damn smart?"

"When I emerged from the womb! Fresh, fly, full of wisdom." Wallace popped his collar with a smirk. "So what's back there?"

"Two bedrooms, one for guests, one to be determined, and a second bathroom. Upstairs is the master, which has its own patio and hot tub. It's the most 09'er thing about the place."

They made their way upstairs, Veronica gasping at the light and airy feel of her new bedroom. Twice as large as the master in her old apartment, one wall was entirely glass, spilling out onto the patio deck. In her mind, she added a bed, sparse furnishings, perhaps twinkle lights to bring a little more night sky inside. _Perfect_.

"You're going to need privacy fencing," Wallace mused.

"Yeah, that's one of the last jobs on the to-do list. We had them focus on the stuff that we needed to move back in for now. So, what do you think?"

Wallace rubbed his chin in mock contemplation. "Well, I think it'll be alright."

"Alright?"

"Oh yeah, I mean it could use _more_ fabulous windows and a bigger hot tub, but it'll do." Wallace laughed, gesturing to her purse. "Let's toast!"

Veronica pulled two tiny plastic cups from her purse and popped the mini-bottle, laughing as the plastic cork flew down the stairs. They sat on the freshly carpeted floor, tapping their drinks together lightly with a giggle.

"To a new beginning," Wallace toasted.

"To a good foundation with a fresh coat of paint," Veronica added.

Noticing it was close to four, she sat her phone beside her and turned up the ringer. Logan had said if there was a window to Skype, it would be between four and five their time, but he couldn't promise anything. All the same, she hoped she could share her bliss with him today. The contractors had done a beautiful job with their home, and he deserved to see it.

"So, how are things at Satan High?"

Wallace grinned. "Oh, you know, WIFI in every corner, secret societies in the basement. I love it, though. We have a great team already, which is hard to do."

"That's because they have the best coach ever. The mighty Wallace Fennel, legend of Neptune High!"

"It's a good school. The Kane name is just that: a name, and money. It benefits the kids."

Veronica couldn't argue with that logic. While she'd loathed the elite in her high school, their social cache meant the school board had kept Neptune High brimming with technology and courses most schools could never fund.

"How's Noah?"

"He's getting _huge_! I'm telling you Veronica, being a dad? It sounds like corny shit when people say it changes you, but it really does. Watching this tiny human grow and learn, someone who relies on you for everything but can't wait to do it all on their own…" Wallace shook his head, grinning. "He's fearless, because he doesn't know what this world can do to you yet. I envy him that."

"Can we bottle some of that innocence? My jaded nature has long poisoned that optimism out of me."

Wallace scrolled through his phone, pulling up a video of Noah. Veronica laughed as the toddler announced he would cook his breakfast—by pouring the entire box of cereal on the floor, then drizzling milk on top.

Brushing away tears, Veronica gasped for air. "And Shae didn't kill you for not stopping him?"

"Nah, she posted it on Instagram before I could! Took all the credit!"

Leaning back on her arms, Veronica smiled. "You know, I'm really glad you found Shae. Marriage suits you, Mr. Fennel. Fatherhood, too. Noah's such a good guy. Our monthly hangouts are so easy, and I doubt it's because toddlers are well-behaved by default."

"Well yeah, I always wanted a family. But it takes work. We fight. There are days when Noah is a terror, just throwing things around and refusing to do anything we ask him. But that's life, right?"

"You just make it look… not easy, but natural," Veronica explained. "None of this has ever felt natural for me. Living with Logan is easy—I love him, he loves me. We have a rhythm. But this?" She wiggled her finger at him, her engagement ring sparkling in the midday sun. "This felt suffocating. Terrifying. Doomed to fail. I didn't want to lose him by changing what was working."

Wallace sat his champagne aside, leaning closer. "You've known each other for over two decades. You spent nine years apart and fell right back into that rhythm, right? What difference does a ring make?"

"I know it's irrational. Deep down, I know that. I was even sorta okay with it as a distant hypothetical, but when an actual ring appeared, I short circuited. Ugh, I'm one of those whiny girls now!" Veronica sprawled on her back, groaning. "Weren't you afraid of marriage at all? Afraid to become another statistic, like your mom? Afraid to end up angry and hating each other?"

"Ah, I got you." Wallace considered her question carefully. "I was and I wasn't. I know what your mother did, and it's unforgivable in my books, even if she thought she was protecting you. Stealing your money, wasting your money at rehab, then making a whole new family and pretending you never existed? That's cold, V. It's damn cold."

"It was, although we're at least passably civil now," she replied softly.

"Here's the thing: my mom left my dad young, so young that I only remember my stepfather. And when I lost him, it was because he died. That's a different type of leaving someone. So while yeah, everything went down in high school with Nate and Chicago, I grew up with a good home. Two good parents. I saw it both ways. You didn't see that."

"No, I definitely did not," Veronica agreed. "Never mind the clients at work."

"My mother lied to me, and it hurt. It hurt me deep. I had to work through that and it took time. But for the most part, she's a great mom. I guess my advice is, if you're worried about screwing up your marriage, just remember you have two parents to take an example from: your mom, and your dad. Your dad's a good guy. Be like him."

Veronica nodded thoughtfully, pushing herself back up to a seated position. "You're right. I spend so much time worried about being my mother, that I forget I don't have to be her. Just like Logan chose not to be his father."

"Exactly, Supafly. How do you think I get through being a dad? One of mine is dead, and the other one is a selfish asshole who chose himself and drugs over me, every time. So I try to be like my mom."

"It's working," Veronica assured him, leaning into his shoulder. "Thank you. I forget sometimes that I don't have to do everything alone. That I can ask for advice."

"Oh, I know. But I've learned that when you really need it, you'll come to me. And I'll be here when you need me."

From her phone pealed a familiar bell. _Skype incoming call alert_. She hurriedly accepted the call, beaming at the sight of Logan's face.

"Hey, sailor. Miss me?"

"Always," Logan replied. "Hey, Wallace! How are you?"

"I'm great, man. The place looks beautiful, but I'll let Veronica give you the tour. See you later?"

"Yes, thank you so much, Wallace." Turning her attention back to her phone, Veronica blew a kiss to Logan. "They've done a wonderful job in here, baby. Wanna see?"

Logan's hand rose and feigned catching her kiss, pocketing it with a grin. "I have about twenty minutes, so hit the highlights."

"I can work with that. Now, look at this bedroom where I fully intend to violate you upon your return…"

* * *

"_The tide recedes but leaves behind bright seashells on the sand. The sun goes down, but gentle warmth still lingers on the land. The music stops, and yet it echoes on in sweet refrains... For every joy that passes, something beautiful remains."_

_The pastor paused, glancing in Veronica's direction. "Although we have lost a great man in Logan Echolls, the love his family and friends carry in their hearts for him remains. Through us, we keep his music echoing on, always. In honour of his service to his country, we will close with the traditional Taps and presentation to the family."_

_The mournful bugle began, and with it, her tears fell anew. Her father's arms wrapped around her, but it was of no comfort at all. This all seemed wrong. It was impossible. Logan couldn't be dead. She didn't feel him gone. In her mind, strange memories insisted that he'd made it out of her car alive, that an altercation had spared him. That she had been shot in the process._

"_I'd have a scar," she whispered, her fingers grazing her black dress._

"_What is it sweetie?" her father whispered._

"_This isn't right," she sobbed. "He's not dead. This can't be real!"_

"_Oh, Veronica, I'm so sorry."_

_Her father clung to her tighter as she struggled against the flashes of memory. A gun, a struggle. Making love on the beach in the Virgin Islands. This funeral… oh god, had she imagined the rescue? Deluded herself into thinking he'd survived to avoid facing her guilt?_

_She watched as a flag was carefully folded and presented to her, faces somber and sad. She thanked them, but the fabric… It felt wrong. It didn't feel like a flag. And if it didn't feel like a flag, was it possible that Logan wasn't dead?_

"_I need to see him," she demanded, rising to her feet._

"_Veronica, there was nothing left to see. We went over this," her father insisted._

_She pushed away from him, shoving back Wallace's hands, Mac and Weevil's hands as she rushed towards the casket. The pastor looked on in horror as she flipped the heavy lid open, shouting to the heavens that Logan was not, could not be dead._

_When she saw the skull and scattered bones contained within, she began to scream…_

"NO! LOGAN!"

Veronica gasped for air, legs kicking wildly as her eyes flew open. Her hand flew to her face, seeking shards of glass as she searched the windows for damage. But these weren't the same windows. She was in a different bed, in a different room.

_It was a nightmare. Logan didn't die. He lived. We bought the house_.

She walked herself through the facts, palm slicking away the cold sweat coating her forehead as she struggled to slow her breathing. It had been months since she'd had a nightmare like this—and she'd never woken up alone before. Logan, her father, Mac—someone else had always been nearby for comfort.

"Logan," she whimpered, reaching for her phone.

It was four in the morning, dark outside still. It was daytime wherever Logan was, but his calls on this mission had been sporadic at best. All the same, the dread coursing through her veins would not abate.

_What if the nightmare is a warning?_

Unable to shake her anxiety, she sent a quick email to Logan: _Hey, it's me. Have a strange feeling. Need to know you're okay. Call me when you can. Love you._

Beside her, Pony nuzzled her hip, reminding her that this was her beauty sleep time, and only she dictated early morning wake-ups. Veronica's hand ran over her short fur, smoothing circles across her ribs in hopes of steadying herself.

_Why are the nightmares back?_

Glancing at her phone, she found her answer: _Spring Break has begun_. It was the anniversary of the Sea Sprite bombing, the day Penn had come into their lives and nearly destroyed them. She may not have consciously remembered, but her brain was keeping score, just as it never failed to remember the passing of Lilly Kane. Hot tears slid down her cheeks, a boiling over of frustration and shame that her life was still being ruled by the events of last year.

Her phone vibrated wildly in her palm and she yelped in surprise. A glance at the screen brought her relief as she accepted the Skype call.

"Logan."

He leaned closer to the screen, tilting his head. "Hey, what's wrong? You look like you've been crying."

"A little. I'm fine now. How are you?"

"I'm good. I was actually waiting until five your time so I could call you before your morning jog. I should be home in a week or two, definitely before our anniversary."

Veronica smiled, rolling onto her side. "That's amazing news. I miss you so much."

"I miss you, too. Why were you crying?"

"It was just a bad dream. Not a big deal. I just needed to hear your voice, that's all."

She could tell he wanted to ask questions, but thankfully, he let them go. "Is Pony taking good care of you?"

"Always, although she hogs more of the bed than her dad does," Veronica joked. "She's also a terrible big spoon."

"Well, if I didn't excel at something, you wouldn't keep me around."

"Oh, you excel at many things, but I remember your rules about your calls being monitored," she replied coyly.

Logan chuckled with her, sipping on coffee. "Hey, how's your dad doing?"

"Great! He's been back at work for a week now. No field stuff yet, just office files, but he's really happy to be there. The hip feels good and he's barely using his cane now. Matty's been a huge help around the office."

"How does she have time to work with you and the motel?"

"Her mom hired a general manager for the motel. She works with us 3 afternoons a week. It helps with the backlogs on filing, answering phones. Lets me get out of the office and not worry about dad. Speaking of out of office, something weird has been happening thanks to Penn's shitty little documentary."

"What's that?"

"We're getting calls for cases from other cities. Los Angeles, San Diego, San Francisco. Even farther places, like New York and Seattle. It's weird."

Logan mulled this over for a long moment. "Well, you could charge them extra, on top of expenses. There's only so much you can make on cheating spouses in Neptune."

Veronica shifted up in bed, adjusting the pillows behind her. "You think we should do it?"

"Maybe only the bigger stuff worth the effort. Missing persons, that kind of thing. I'm gone so often for work, Veronica. What's holding you back? Your dad's up and working, and Matty is there to help out."

"He is. I just worry."

Logan's attention was drawn away from her, and she knew what that meant: _time's up_.

"Hey, I have to go. Are you sure you're alright?"

"I am now, promise. I love you."

"Love you. I'll see you soon."

The call ended and Veronica reluctantly shoved her phone aside. Seeing him had eased her worry, but that lingering anxiety would not shake free. _To hell with it. I'm taking the day off. Self care._ There were several things she'd been meaning to do or look into for herself, but between her father's recovery and Logan being away, her needs had been her lowest priority. Dentist appointment, doctor's appointment, treating herself to a massage, courtesy of a gift certificate from Wallace and Shae—she'd put everything off. She would take this as a sign to slow down and _make the time_.

Sending a text to her father, she turned off her alarm and curled up with Pony, hoping to catch just a couple more hours of hopefully peaceful sleep.

* * *

It had taken two weeks, five days and eleven hours—not that she was counting—to open the door to her house and find the welcome sight of Logan's duffel bag. Pony was snoozing contentedly in the living room on her new dog bed, cradling a brand new chew toy.

"He's home," Veronica whispered happily, setting her bag down quietly.

The last few weeks had been rough. Visions of Logan and her father torn to pieces broke what little sleep she could manage, and she'd had to make liberal use of her under-eye concealer to keep her father from asking questions. She'd found herself on edge, snapping at Matty and her dad over trivial things and quickly apologizing. Matty, too, was on edge, so much so that her father had declared the space _Mars In Retrograde_ and taken a bail jumper case in Fresno to escape the tension.

Logan's calls had been erratic, short and infrequent, but she'd clung to the promise of them to cope with her brain's ghoulish preoccupations. Last night's horror film inside her head involved watching helplessly as a collar bomb decapitated Logan while Penn laughed hysterically.

Tiptoeing upstairs, Veronica found her weary husband asleep in their bed, still in his NWUs which stood out against the pale blue quilt beneath him. Tugging off her sneakers, she crawled into bed beside him, resting her head upon his chest. His heart was steady, sure and slow, his breathing calm. A soothing metronome for her frayed nerves.

"Ron?" he mumbled.

"Shh. Let's nap."

His arms curled around her tightly, his eyes never opening. "Nap," he agreed.

Safe in his arms, she fell into a dreamless sleep for hours, waking to a pitch black sky outside and Pony whining for her late evening bathroom break. Logan stirred beneath her, grumbling at the noise.

"I'll get her," Veronica offered.

"No, my turn," he insisted. "Need to switch back around anyway."

Yawning, Veronica reluctantly rolled off of him. "Alright. I'll order dinner. Vietnamese?"

"Works for me."

She studied him as he changed into street clothes, seeking bruises, blemishes, scars. There was a yellowing bruise on his left hip, and a nasty purple one on the rear of his right calf, but no signs of pain as he pulled on cargo shorts and a black tee. _Surface injuries_. Those, she could live with.

"Do I pass inspection?" Logan quipped, noticing her scrutiny.

"Same beautiful man I kissed goodbye in January." Pressing up onto her toes, she kissed him hard, reveling in the groan she elicited from him. "Same lips, too. Now go, before Pony pees on our brand new floors."

"If you'd let me buy the mansion with the yard—"

"Ha, ha!"

She followed him downstairs, admiring the rear view on her way to the kitchen. Grabbing her cell, she waved goodbye to Logan and quickly opened the delivery app to order their go-to: Bun Ga Nuong, with a side of spring rolls and chicken satay for Logan. Stepping outside, she walked around the house towards the beach, watching from a distance as Logan and Pony ran in circles on the sand.

_Peace._

On his last call, Logan had promised he wouldn't deploy again until after their anniversary, which meant they had at least a week or so together. Her case load was light, easily passed to Matty for background checks and her dad for the legwork. She'd planned it that way, out of cautious optimism. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do for their anniversary—she'd considered Sedona but the thought brought her back to the bomb and that hollow ache in her chest—but she felt grateful they could be together.

Logan made his way towards her now, Pony obediently heeling at his side. It was so unfair. She seldom listened to Veronica, but Logan? His wish was her command. Seeing her waiting, he picked up his pace.

"Food on its way?"

She checked her phone. "Should be here in twenty."

"Good. I'm starving."

They headed inside, settling onto their couch while Pony disappeared into the guest room. Veronica crawled on top of him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"When did you get in?"

"Base at five, got here around ten? Crashed after a quick walk with Pony." His fingers toyed with her hair, looping strands around them and releasing the spirals one by one. "How are you doing?"

"You're here. I'm wonderful."

"Amendment: how _were_ you doing?" At her hesitation, he tugged her closer, tucking her beneath his chin. "The nightmares came back, didn't they?"

"Maybe…"

"I was afraid of that. Maybe buying this place was a mistake."

"No. No, I love it here!" Veronica pressed herself up, meeting his worried gaze. "I promise you, I really don't believe it's the house. It's my internal tragedy clock. I dream of Lilly every year. Now, I'll dream of this, too."

"You know, I work very, _very_ hard to contain my anger, but there are times I really want to abuse my access and meet up with Epner in a private military interrogation room," Logan muttered angrily. "I could kill him. I would kill him, if I ever had the chance and knew I'd get away with it."

"Get in line. I'm first."

"I had a nightmare, too. Three nights ago." Logan's voice was softer now, shaky. "If I tell you about it, will you tell me about yours?"

"Mine always change. It's never quite the same…"

"Tell me about the one that made you cry. The one that made you email me."

Her heart hammered in her chest as she brought the images back into focus. "I was at your funeral. The bomb killed you, and they were burying you. Military honours, Taps. But I couldn't believe it was real, so I opened the casket and it was just… bones…" She bit her lip, willing herself not to cry. "Even in the dream, I knew it wasn't real, but it _felt_ so real, I was afraid it would come true anyway."

"Huh." Logan's hand caressed her cheek, tracing her jawline lightly. "My nightmare was _your_ funeral. You didn't survive the bullet. And after it was all done, after you were laid to rest, I took a boat as far out as I could, and I put a gun to my head. I woke up as I pulled the trigger."

Veronica shuddered at the imagery, her hand fisting in his shirt. "What is wrong with us?"

Logan laughed darkly. "Maybe we love each other too much, I don't know. But the weight of that pain, of considering a world without you in it, was far greater than any I've ever felt. You left Neptune, left me behind, and that gutted me. It did. Yet, I could live, because I knew you were out there, hopefully happy, living the life you deserved."

"I'm living it now," Veronica affirmed, sealing it with a gentle kiss.

A soft knock on the door ended their conversation and signalled the arrival of dinner. Logan took care of paying, while she set the tiny table in their dining nook and lit a small candle in the centre. Plates made up, they settled in, eating quietly at first, but soon returning to their heavy conversation.

"Do you remember my nightmares?" Logan asked quietly.

"I do."

How could she forget? Thrashing, screaming affairs, her name ringing out in a pained voice. Logan near catatonic in his waking hours. Her chest tightened, recalling how helpless she felt.

"I want to tell you why I had them." He pushed his dinner aside, half-eaten. "I can't tell you where I was, but that mission… It went to shit, fast. Worst one I've had in my entire Navy career. We lost half of the men and women in my unit, Veronica. Half of us came home in body bags."

"Oh my God, Logan…" Her hand reached across the table for his, holding it tightly. "I'm so sorry."

"That wasn't… It didn't help. On our final extraction, everything went wrong. My plane got taken out and I had to eject. _Everything went wrong_…" His voice trailed off, his eyes glazing over as he lost himself in a personal hell. "My main parachute failed to deploy. I was descending fast, too fast, scrambling for my back-up chute, certain I was going to die. We'd had that fight right before I left, remember?"

_Fuck. _They had fought before that one. She remembered it now. She'd been chafing about the time he was spending with Dick because the deployments were coming fast and furious around then. She missed him and she lashed out, accused him of missing bachelor life. She'd gone to bed angry and woken up to his phone ringing. They'd barely said goodbye.

"I'm falling, flailing, and I start screaming your name, over and over, because if I'm about to die, I want you to hear me. I want you to know that you're the only damn thing on my mind. I'm about to die and I'm terrified you might not know how much I love you. And then my fingers find the ripcord and the emergency chute deploys… and I live. I hit the ground hard, but I'm alive."

"I'm so glad you are," she managed, brushing aside a tear. "When you came back, I was so scared. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't reach you. I just tried to be there until you came back all the way."

"The nightmares were terrible. Either I was back there, or watching you at my funeral, hurting and angry at me for staying in the Navy. Days were no better. I'd think of the ones we lost, or how stupid I was to leave for deployment that way." His hand squeezed hers, pulling it to his heart. "I've done my best to never leave us in a bad place again. Just in case."

"And the nightmares?"

"Jane and I worked on them, a lot. The one I had on this deployment was the first in a very long time. Veronica, come here." He pulled her to her feet, embracing her tightly. "You've made your opinions known repeatedly, but you have a degree in Psychology. You're smart enough to know that these aren't just run of the mill nightmares, right?"

"Everything I do is special and unique," she deflected weakly.

"You flinch every single time I open the car door."

_Fuck, she was busted._ "So maybe I get a bit anxious. It's normal, given the circumstances."

"Well, if you ever tire of waking up panicked and crying, Jane can help you find someone to talk to. That's it, that's my pitch. I'm not pushing you. I just don't want you to feel what I felt for those months. Seeing you that morning, being so far away… it broke my heart."

_Maybe. For him, maybe_.

"I'll consider it."

"I'll take that as a win."

She wrapped her arms around his waist, thinking of failing parachutes and backpacks that ticked. Maybe she would. Maybe it was the only way to save her sanity.

"I have a plan for our anniversary. Want to hear it?"

"Yes, please."

Logan began to sway slowly, dancing to music in his mind. "You, me, Mac's currently empty home in Santa Barbara. Tons of wine, her guest room, us replacing her sheets out of courtesy. No clothes."

"Ooh, tell me more about this 'no clothes' business you speak of…"

"I'd rather show you," Logan murmured, tugging on the hem of her scoop neck tee.

Like breadcrumbs for the lost, they abandoned their clothes in a trail leading to their bed beneath twinkling star lights. Limbs entwined, hands grasping, mouths tasting, they found their way home.

* * *

**May 14, 2020**

She squeezed the stress ball tighter, staring at the floor. Avoiding eye contact.

"Sorry. You asked a question about me, and I told you all about my hometown. All about the case."

"It's quite a story, though," Jane replied softly. "I followed it in the newspaper."

Veronica felt her body tense with anger. "After the documentary aired, a survey showed that only 40% of America thinks Penn did it." She shook her head in disbelief, recalling the feel of the glass shards impaled in her skin. "He really is an evil genius. Who knew?"

_Not I. And it almost cost me Logan._

Jane leaned forward, her pendant necklace swaying with the momentum. "What do you think Logan will think about you coming to see me?"

"I think he'll be pissed it took me this long," she admitted, blinking away tears.

"I think he'll be impressed," Jane countered, smiling warmly. "Reaching out shows me that you are on your way."

"To what?"

"To… well-being," Jane replied. "I'm afraid we're out of time, but I'd love to talk to you some more, or if you prefer to see someone who is strictly your therapist, I have a dear friend and colleague I can recommend. Our sessions would remain completely separate and private from my work with Logan, and vice versa."

"Maybe by phone?" Veronica suggested nervously. "I'm heading out of town, and I'm not sure when I'll be back."

Jane was clearly puzzled, given her awareness of Logan's schedule. "Vacation?"

"Case. Since the documentary, we've been getting calls from everywhere. Which is good, because with these nightmares and Logan deployed for another month or so, I kinda wanna be anywhere but here."

Jane nodded thoughtfully. "What's your dad going to do without you?"

"Oh, I think he'll manage. He's got a girlfriend now, plus he's going to have Pony for a while. Matty will help around the office, keep him in line," she added with a smirk.

"If I might not see you for a while, there is something that I think you should have. I'll email it to you. On your wedding day, I asked Logan if he was sure he wanted to get married. He said he was, but I guess he wasn't satisfied with his answer, because after our session, he called my house and left this message. I saved it for our records, and when he asked me about whether you could approach me for help, I asked if I could share it with you someday. He said I could, whenever I thought you might need to hear it. I think now is the right time, Veronica."

"Okay. Thank you, Jane. For listening to me, for helping Logan… Thank you." Veronica rose, passing back the stress ball. "I think this might need a little therapy of its own."

"It's strong, it can take it," Jane assured her. "It's a lot like my clients. Safe travels, Veronica."

Stepping out of Jane's house, Veronica turned her face upwards, feeling the sun's warmth. This was a good decision. As much as she'd balked at therapy over the years. Jane felt like a wise aunt. She could see why Logan liked her. And with Logan deployed since the day after their anniversary and her nightmares persisting since March, she'd recognized that just as she'd reached out to Mac and Wallace over the last year, it was time to seek help with this, too.

_Mental health is health_, she reminded herself. _You wouldn't let an open wound get gangrene when you could treat it and heal it._

Her car was outside, packed and ready for her trip to San Francisco. As Logan had suggested, she'd decided that major cases were worth the travel, and this one had piqued her curiosity immediately. A teenage boy had disappeared after a New Year's Eve party, leaving on a chilly night with no coat, no cash and on foot, headed into the wilderness of Yosemite. He'd been missing for a year, with no trace of him to be found, and his girlfriend wanted closure.

Carefully checking the front and rear seats, she unlocked the vehicle and started the car. She hit the highway in twenty minutes, making excellent time. Passing by a rest stop an hour later, her rumbling stomach decided a quick stop at Wendy's couldn't hurt. She pulled off the highway and entered the drive-through as her phone pinged, ordering a strawberry lemonade and fries.

_That has to be Jane's email_.

"Three seventy-seven," the cashier cheerfully announced. "Please pull up to the window."

Veronica fumbled through her purse, shoving aside case notes, old CVS receipts and—_grr, what are my blood work results doing here?_ This lack of sleep was messing with her entire routine. Grabbing her wallet, she paid for her food quickly, turning her attention to her phone. As she'd hoped, the alert was indeed from Jane.

_What did Logan say about me?_

The cashier passed her drink and a small bag and Veronica thanked her, pulling into one of the nearby parking places to open the email. Jane had provided little explanation, only a simple _as promised_ to accompany her file. Veronica stared at the attachment, suddenly hesitant to open it.

It felt strange to listen to something not intended for her, but Jane had obtained Logan's permission. Knowing her husband, he would repeat it if asked to her face, anyway.

_Stop being silly, Veronica, play it!_

She pulled out onto the highway, merging back into traffic and sipping her lemonade. Her thumb tapped the screen and Logan's voice filled the car. His tone was calm and warm as he spoke of her, just hours before their vows.

"_Is it weird to want to marry someone because you respect her? Because you want to be like her?_"

Veronica's hands gripped the wheel tighter, a pang of longing in her chest. This deployment was hitting her harder than most; she hadn't even heard from him in a week.

"_Because you want children who will inherit her qualities?"_

Veronica laughed, a single blast of surprised humor as her right hand absently drifted to her abdomen.

"_I want to marry Veronica because she's the toughest human being I've ever met_," Logan continued, his voice heavy with emotion. "_Blows that would destroy most people? She always picks herself back up._"

She remembered making the call to Jane, lab results on the table beside her. Her doctor's words echoing in her ears: _"You're about six weeks along, Mrs. Mars. Congratulations."_ She trusted in the guidance of Wallace: that she could choose to be a good parent, like her father. She was going to need a little help to do that.

"_She was the first person in my life who believed I could be a better man. I love her for that. I want to marry her so she knows that I am never going to abandon her like her mother. I want her to believe she's worth sticking around for… I think that better answers your question._"

Yanking the sunglasses off her face, she brushed away tears. "Stupid hormones," she cursed.

Logan had always seen right through her, hadn't he? Known her heart better than she'd known it herself, much to her annoyance. But she was right: he'd become that better man she'd seen inside of him. He'd become her rock, a steadying, grounding energy.

Somewhere in Santa Barbara—whether it was in Mac's guest room or beneath the stars in the private yard—she'd surrendered to fate. She was terrified and elated all at once, but determined not to tell Logan—or anyone—until he was safe in her arms again.

Merging into the fast lane, Veronica popped a fry in her mouth and replayed the message. She couldn't wait to see Logan's face when he found out what she planned to do with that fourth bedroom...

* * *

**Logan alive? Check.  
Mac? Check.  
Weevil and Veronica making amends? Check.  
Some actual Wallace-Veronica friendship? Check.  
Explaining Logan's "broke" status? Check.  
Tidying a few miscellaneous plot holes? Figured I might as well.  
Correcting dangerous, continuity-clashing mental health messaging? You bet.  
Veronica on a healthier course? She deserves that.  
Showing Rob Thomas how to write adult Veronica? DID THAT.  
Happily ever after? LoVe always wins.**

**One more time, please let me know what you think. Thank you for reading. I hope this helped heal your heart, as much as it healed mine to write it.**


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